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ZOE THE DANCER 



:: zoe :: 

THE DANCER 

: : BT IDA WILD : : 


LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLET HEAD 
NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY MCMXI 




Qm 

APR 4 191J 




Turnbull dr* Spears, Printers, Edinburgh 

t> 0 


PREFACE 


F ashion or no, we mean to have a Preface, 
and to present ourselves with due courtesy 
to the Eeader, that ubiquitous personage 
whom we observe, spasmodically taking 
sips at the fountain of thought. 

Life here presents her surprises, to which you are 
heartily welcome. Eeligion and bigotry sport in wild 
extravagance on the same page. Vulgarity, among 
other venial sins, exists unchecked, but vice is most 
aptly and thoroughly reproved. Comedy trips behind 
tragedy, and the greater passions jumble the less in un- 
dignified procession. A gentle mean is preserved, and 
if the humour be held to be not excessively diverting, 
it must also be conceded that the tragic passages are 
not of the blackest. If the Devil pipes his way in, on 
occasion, pen and ink speedily overcome him, and a 
page at most is his pasturage — further he may not 
wander ; the good lies beyond ; or it may be the in- 
different-good : human nature, not mawkishly virtuous, 
is our plea, which, having made, we plunge you straight- 
way into the story, to find your own feet, our bow 
achieved. 


5 



CONTENTS 


PAQB 

Preface ...... 5 

Chapter I 

'proves heyond argument that a conventual train- 
ing does not always predispose to a religious 
vocation . . . . .13 

Chapter II 

leads us hack, mankind banished, to the doings of 

Sister Joy . . . • .26 

Chapter III 

tells in what manner Zoe (so to speak) fluttered her 

Volsciansin Gorioli . . • .32 

Chapter IV 

takes the reader finally away from the shelter of convent 

walls and sets him in the whirl of commerce . 49 

Chapter V 

carries us far and icide . . . .58 

Chapter VI 

brings Zoe by devious Ways to the Back-door of Fame . 75 

Chapter VII 

moves to the sound of Pipe and Tabor . . 80 

Chapter VIII 

takes us into a lady's confidence and shows how she 88 
triumphs over material objects . 


8 Zoe the Dancer 


Chapter IX 

PACK 

presents Miss Caxe arriving, in the French sense, in 94 
trunks and hose .... 

Chapter X 

is 'parenthetically descriptive . . . 109 

Chapter XI 

begins promisingly with the Fates, but descends to 


mortals 

. 

115 

is genteel 

Chapter XII 

. 121 

Chapter XIII 
contains an advantageous appearance 

. 125 

shows how a proverb 

Chapter XIV 
is put into practice 

130 

goes a~wooing 

Chapter XV 

. 135 

eschews monotony 

Chapter XVI 

. 147 


Chapter XVII 



recounts, inter alia, the unnecessary gentlemanliness 
of a certain person, hereafter to be discredited for 
other reasons . . . . .150 


Chapter XVIII 
explains a girVs reasons 


156 


Contents 


9 


Chapter XIX 

PAQB 

reports an unseemly incident at the Fraternity, and the 

'pusillanimity of the Brothers . . . 159 

Chapter XX 

contains a had word . . . .165 

Chapter XXI 

takes us hack into the realm of polite prose . 166 

Chapter XXII 

is occupied with a solemn rite . . .171 

Chapter XXIII 

reveals in what tragic wise Zoe and Brother Frederic 
passed a wakeful night, and how Wychthwaite 
slept ...... 175 

Chapter XXIV 

shows Church, Medicine, and Stage all of one mind . 181 

Chapter XXV 

depicts Lay and Clergy at variance . . . 185 

Chapter XXVI 

sets forth deeds of derring-do . . .194 

Chapter XXVII 

is occupied with stratagems . . . .198 

Chapter XXVIII 

in which Hope sinks awhile . . . 209 

Chapter XXIX 

tells of one of Earth's daughters, from whose shoulders 
the burden of life was early lifted 


217 


10 Zoe the Dancer^ 


Chapter XXX 

is reminiscent of Sorrow and the Herald of Peace 

PAGR 

. 221 

Chapter XXXI 
tells of an unpleasant incident 

. 232 

Chapter XXXII 
tells of what is hitter sweet . 

241 

Chapter XXXIII 

sighs ..... 

. 247 

Chapter XXXIV 
takes all a-journeying 

. 260 

Chapter XXXV 

brings in the lover and sends him off again . 

. 266 


Chapter XXXVI 

tells of Jewell-Brown'S awakening, and shows that a 
man may he a knave and a fool and yet he worthy 
of redemftion ..... 280 

Chapter XXXVII 

tells of sickness and evil, and a great sacrifice . 286 

Chapter XXXVIII 

holds communion with the dead . . . 294 

Chapter XXXIX 

is concerned with an unhaf'py man . . 297 

Chapter Xli 
echoes to the chime of the vesper hell 


300 


ZOE THE DANCER 


N 


ZOE THE DANCER 


Chapter I 

proves beyond argument that a conventual training 
does not always predispose to a religious vocation 


A DESK in form of a pulpit, but with this 
improvement, that the steps were col- 
lapsible, and could be pulled up out of 
harm's way once you were safely en- 
sconced, stood in the centre of the hall, and in it sat 
the supervising Sister. She kept an eye on the girls, 
in spite of her prayers, dividing her attention skil- 
fully between God and Mammon, in the form of her 
board and lodging, dependent on her care of the girls 
in playtime. 

It poured with rain : the ugly bricked playground 
rang with the splash of water. One hardy Sister and 
one of the servants chopped the earth open in the 
three-feet wide circles left unbricked round the gaunt 
trees, and swept the water with hard brooms into the 
cracks. A smell of damp dust pervaded the place; a dust 
that was obviously insoluble lay in lines on the wet 
paving and clung to clogs and brooms. Green-painted 
iron tables and chairs darkened as the rain polished 
them : the pink bricks shone brightly ; the white walls 
of the convent glistened in the unremitting shower. 


14 Zoe the Dancer 


The Sister in charge had already exercised her 
authority so far as to confiscate a novel. This book 
she now vainly tried to read, but as it was in English, 
and the good woman was ignorant of that language, 
she progressed slowly, slipping past all the small 
words and seizing avidly on those of Latin deriva- 
tion. The result was discouraging ; after an exhaus- 
tive examination of the steel engraving that rested 
beneath a strip of silver-tissue paper at the beginning 
of the book, she closed the volume definitely, assured 
that it was unfit to be read by her maidens. The 
engraving that led to this decision showed a handsome 
man with a remarkable growth of hair on his face, 
such as in that day young gentlemen affected, em- 
bracing a ringleted and brazen damsel. Trees on a 
knoll at an enormous distance from them on the 
right, and infinitesimal deer on the left, suggested 
that their mutual clasp was being effected in a park, 
presumably from the area portrayed with great clarity 
of detail, under some other sky than that which had 
smiled on the author’s nativity. Sister Joy closed the 
book with a snap, locked it in the drawer of her 
pulpit and took up her prayer. 

A group of small girls in black frocks scampered 
noisily at one end of the hall ; they had invented a 
new form of “ touch,” which necessitated climbing 
over, under, and through the benches : they had drawn 
half-a-dozen of these, each long enough to hold twelve 
girls, out from the wall and arranged them in a 
hexagon, seats inside, the narrow board which served 
for back outside. Eegardless of the Sister’s cries, 
they clambered and tumbled over this barricade, wildly 


Zoe the Dancer 15 


shrieking, rolling on top of each other. At times their 
end of the hall presented nothing but a cloud of dust 
and innumerable white, black or striped legs waving 
without respect to pairs in a confused mass of drapery. 
The owners of these sturdy limbs cared for the Sister 
not at all ; she was vinegary, unlovable. They let 
her mingle her angry shouts with theirs unheeding : 
they were sure of their exemption from attack. Often 
before she had climbed out of her pulpit to come upon 
them, when one of them would scurry along, take 
away the steps, and leave her stranded on their level. 
She had learnt to stay in her castle, and they safely 
kept to the end of the room. 

A sedate group sat near the pulpit and dressed 
dolls : they talked all at once and very loudly, but 
their behaviour was beautiful. Sister Joy watched 
them with satisfaction. She could not hear in the 
general hurly-burly the sundry choice remarks and 
similes applied to her by these black-frocked bees. 
The Sister’s nose was ill-shapen and over-tinted : it 
may be said at once that she was temperate of 
necessity, as she would have been of choice, had choice 
been hers, but the coarse mind of girlhood had rebap- 
tised her Brandy, This name, with uncomplimentary 
epithets and vulgar qualifications, formed the basis of 
an alphabetical game the children were playing. 

At the other end of the room sat half-a-dozen 
young ladies, their demure air and elegant pose giving 
them the look of widows in their black dresses ; one 
sewed, another held wool for a third to wind ; they 
talked quietly. The vigilant Sister could see nothing 
in their behaviour to suspect: their very innocence 


16 Zoe the Dancer 


had, some fifteen minutes earlier, brought her out of 
her throne, rigid with suspicion. She had then carried 
off the novel, which a polyglot damsel was translating 
currently to her five companions. They were now 
discussing love affairs, in which branch of knowledge 
all were admirably proficient. 

Lalage, ravisher of men’s hearts, was exceedingly 
broad ; she possessed more bulk than any other 
boarder or day-girl at St Nytouche’s. Her black 
eyes glowed beneath a heavy brow, her hair stood 
fuzzily out about her large head ; she fingered a 
crucifix that lay on her bosom, half closed her eyes 
and murmured in a rich deep voice of the ideal lover. 
The others chimed in, the subject has attractions for 
every age at any time : in a girls’ school, among the 
nearly-finished damsels, what else is there to talk 
about ? 

The bilinguist, whose volume had been reft from 
her, sat now with slender neck bent over a piece of 
embroidery ; she added her quotum to the discussion, 
though apparently she had had very little chance of 
studying the subject personally. Fourteen years had 
passed since she had been brought to the convent at 
the age of four, and she had remained there, school- 
time and holiday- time since. Never had she issued 
from its doors without at least two Sisters in attend- 
ance ; never had she had speech with man, save with 
the elderly proprietors of the shops patronised by her 
holy instructresses ; yet she knew what flirtation was 
and that from experience. A beneficent code com- 
mands that, when in public. Sisters shall lower their 
eyes : they are bound to obey ; their vows ensure it, 


Zoe the Dancer 


17 


their pupils are bidden to do likewise. It has been 
observed, however, by the dispassionate (from which 
class the male student of all times and subjects is 
excluded, together with every other young man), that 
the young ladies on whom this injunction is laid 
disregard it sometimes. It has been idly added that 
they infringe it always, but every disinterested person 
must testify that such is not the case. What ! would 
you have us believe that limpid-eyed coquettes of 
eighteen never look down ? The suggestion is dis- 
missed as ridiculous and malignant. 

Zoe, the linguist, therefore, sometimes obeying the 
behest of her tutresses and sometimes ignoring it, had 
qualified for the present discussion with marked 
success. It were vain to ask of us how such things are 
done, but her name was known and breathed in more 
than one students’ boarding-house, with sentimental 
sigh. Her pale beauty, her undeveloped slimness, her 
straw-coloured hair, distinguished her among the 
buxom girls who made up the rest of the school. 
Precocious development is the lot of the Belgian girl; 
the French one is not behind her in this respect ; Zoe 
was the only representative of Great Britain within 
St Hy touche’s walls. Her willowy form, which laid 
her open to the charge of scragginess from the envious 
and indiscriminating, marked her as English in a land 
where our womenfolk are held in disdain. Hot that 
Zoe was held in disdain ; her lack of flesh was not 
uncomely, she did not exaggerate her angles — for, in 
spite of her thinness, she was not angular. Her 
bones did not protrude at shoulder or at knee ; she 
was slight-framed ; every joint was delicately clad 


18 Zoe the Dancer 


with enough tissue to soften without concealing it. 
Her bosom was not incurved ; the vaguest roundness 
saved her from the reproach of a flat chest ; she 
understood the art of draping her scant black bodice 
to make the most of her charm. Among the fleshy 
damsels of St Nytouche’s she moved with an air of 
refinement. Arguing that her appearance was more 
genteel than that of the others, we arrive at the con- 
clusion that refinement in perfection is reserved for 
human skeletons, the rare gentry that we pay three- 
pence to gaze on curiously at fair-time. Our 
premises must be faulty. The admirers of Zoe’s 
pale slenderness did not argue on these lines : they 
accepted her inconsiderable girth as a beauty and 
were content to sigh its fascination from a discreet 
distance. 

These six damsels, four stout, one enormous, and 
Zoe, spoke then of love. They talked of it every day, 
on every possible occasion : no two of them could be 
together without bringing it under discussion, but not 
one of them had ever been in love. Blench, students! 
hide your hirsute faces, junior clerks ! You are not 
loved. Your deities, for all their tender play of eyelids, 
for all their changing colour (or for all your own, for 
that matter, when you become kaleidoscopic at their 
approach), your deities, we repeat, are like all other 
deities : they consent simply to be adored. Girls of 
eighteen cannot love, they would not if they could : 
they prefer their freedom. 

Of these six beauties, one was a bank manager’s 
only daughter, and had been tacitly affianced, since her 
eleventh birthday, to an under-sized youth of the town, 


Zoe the Dancer 19 


son to a paper-manufacturer. She knew him very 
well, his faults, his unsightliness, his vulgarity ; she 
had no liking for him whatever, she cared for him too 
little to despise him, yet she contemplated her union 
with him unflinchingly. She would have set more 
store on him had he been one of the be-whiskered 
medical students that sighed melodiously as she 
marched past in line with fifty-nine others : but she 
dismissed, wisely, his personality from the calculation ; 
she foresaw herself as a moneyed lady, with carriage, 
country-house, servants in plenty and a drawing-room 
wax-candled and glass-sconced out of all proportion, 
and the prevision gave her peace. 

Another was to go North to her relatives, Dutch 
every one of them, at the end of the term ; she hoped 
to be speedily engaged and married. Her hope was 
to be realised. The Fates held a tea-merchant, yellow 
and amorous, in their hands for her : she did not 
foresee her life as a female Bashaw, or contemplate a 
high commercial position in the Dutch Indies, yet 
when such a lot was offered her she accepted it 
blithely. 

Four of the six were helping to populate Europe or 
Asia within five years. Everyone, except Zoe, on this 
occasion was prefiguring her marriage, her dowry, her 
social position, her husband, definitely sure, each one, 
that marriage was to be her lot. Zoe alone, though 
holding her own creditably, had no anticipation of 
her married life. She could imagine far happier fates 
than that. She turned the marriage state over in 
her mind as the girls chatted : it was no whit alluring. 
She dismissed it firmly and took up the text of 


20 Zoe the Dancer 


Love. ’That amused her, in its initial stages. We 
may do her the credit to assume that she wished to 
pursue it no further. She listened deferentially 
to Lalage’s contented sighings and Claire’s wistful 
murmurs. 

Sister Joy watched vainly, suspicion in every 
wrinkle of her plain face ; the damsels were entirely 
well behaved ; their look modest, their occupation 
ladylike ; Sister Joy thought of the engraving and 
formed her own estimate. She realised that the 
screaming monkeys in their improvised corral at the 
other end of the hall were at less harm than their 
elders. She sighed for the peace that was to come to 
her in two day’s time, when Lalage and Claire, 
Th^odorine, Marie and Paula, should each be gone 
her way for good and all. Zoe, she knew, stayed to 
vex her yet another year. At the remembrance, she 
sighed afresh. 

A bell rang, three times three ; one hundred shell- 
like ears heard the sound. Sister Joy heard it also. 
She gathered up her rosary and hours, set down her 
steps, and clambered out of her pulpit ; three times 
three meant Sister Superior wants Sister Joy.” Every 
one of the seventeen teaching Sisters had a separate 
combination of rings on the bell. The hardy Sister 
had run out again into the shower to sound that 
particular one on the large bell that hung above the 
chapel door. Sister Joy flung an exhortative remark 
from the door of the room : it fell on barren ground ; 
to obviate being locked out on her return, a not- 
unknown event, she took the precaution of locking 
her flock in. Little they cared : the screech of the 


Zoe the Dancer 


21 


mighty key would warn them infallibly of Brandy’s 
coming, which her felt slippers would never do. 
Having thus been disposed of, the flock set itself to 
real amusement. 

The rain spattered the windows : its presence 
exempted the occupants of the hall from outside 
supervision. The seventeen teaching Sisters slept 
after their substantial dinner. Our six rose. Wool 
and embroidery were dropped, unruly scamps from 
the end of the room were warned to come no nearer 
(they obeyed the big girls, because they worshipped 
them from afar and because they were pretty), and 
dresses and hair examined by the aid of a small hand- 
glass produced from Theodorine’s ample bosom. 

Mademoiselle Claire Marie-Paul de Baree Burmance, 
anno aetatis suae 1 9 — and you may imagine with what 
deference she was treated — had been presented : had 
trod in voluminous and costly attire the royal floor, 
had sunk to the lowest position possible, except 
the recumbent, before her sovereigns, and had been 
graciously allowed to resume the perpendicular, a 
permission of which she had most elegantly availed 
herself. Alas for such grandeur ! Miss Claire had, 
for some girlish misdemeanour, been sent uncere- 
moniously back to school for a year. It is to be 
questioned whether it was better to be at school in 
the unassailable position of a 'presented personage, and 
therefore first, or to join the real circle of privileged 
courtiers as a mere unit. Each has its advantages. 
CJaire was undeniably the most revered of all the 
girls at St Hytouche’s : she took precedence, even in 
the Sisters’ eyes. That is already something. 


22 


Zoe the Dancer 


Zoe had early learnt from this englamoured friend 
to exploit the conventional courtesy with grace : her 
tutor sank not more flowingly, nor rose with greater 
ease. Those were the days of draped hips ; the 
smallest tots strutted fashionably, their nether limbs 
disguised beneath yards of ill-placed stuff ; the bunchy 
skirts lent greatly to the majesty of the courtesy : 
down you went and your exaggerated hips stood out 
about your waist, so that it looked all the trimmer, 
and after carefully shuffling your feet, back and up you 
came, your drapery falling ludicrously into its place. 
Such garments, even on Zoe the willowy, were ungainly 
in the extreme. Monsters were truly seen when fifty 
females went out together. 

Down went Zoe and up again before an applauding 
and envious circle of girls. Claire, the presented one, 
became princess, queen, empress, or Lalage, the black- 
eyed ravisher of young men’s hearts ; and all in turn 
dipped, tripped and skipped themselves giddy. The 
middle-school, not quite children, and certainly not 
entirely women, made a ring, applauded, screamed, 
sighed, laughed, oh’d and ah’d. Belgian lungs are 
powerful. Zoe stationed an alert child at the door : 
tumult was abroad ; every child roared aloud for very 
wickedness. Down and up went the young ladies, 
all delightfully serious, wearing a faint smile, deferen- 
tial and pleased, the epitome of polite enjoyment as 
described by the curve of the lip. Nothing more 
feminine in the way of employment surely could ever 
have been evolved. Even the shrill- voiced tom-boys 
from the corral came rushing along to watch, practised 
gravely in corners. 


Zoe the Dancer 


23 


One, two, three and up, swish goes your skirt, one, 
two, three and up. 

In their quarters the twenty - two working 
Sisters washed dinner - plates, scrubbed floors, 
mended robes, ironed and clear-starched their head- 
bands. Sister Constancy polished the inside of 
the refectory window ; a burly servant rubbed the 
outside. 

“ Oh for a man,” sighed Sister Constancy. 

Eh ! ” shrilled the servant. 

A man,” repeated the Sister. 

The servant gaped in involuntary dumbness. She 
knew the feeling, none better ; but that a Sister should 
express it ! 

“ To clean the windows,” said Sister Constancy, un- 
suspectingly. The servant rubbed away, not entirely 
satisfied. It was, on the face of it, such a vain desire 
that the explanation sounded poor. Besides, it came 
so late. No man helped with the work of St 
Nytouche’s, and no one knew that more surely than 
Sister Constancy. Since her assumption of the black 
veil at the age of twenty she had toiled at the floors, 
saucepans and windows of the school. In the forth- 
coming holiday hers it would be to repaper the refec- 
tory, whiten the ceiling and plane the floor. The 
Sisters of St hTytouche held themselves aloof from 
dealings with men ; they proved the equality, if not 
the supremacy, of their own sex by doctoring each 
other, killing each other that way at times, and, in the 
past, by burying each other. Such friendly attention 
was forbidden by man-made laws of later date. Philo- 
sophically, the Sisters accepted the new state ; after 


24 Zoe the Dancer 


demise men might dispose of them, but prior to that 
date they should assert their independence of mascu- 
line help. Man’s work lay outside the massy walls ; 
within femina reigned. Married ladies themselves, 
mothers of the pupils, got no farther than the ground- 
floor, even at party-times. Above that common foot- 
ing, vestals only might mount; none other trod the 
saint-adorned corridors of the upper storeys ; maiden 
eyes, unread in love, looked only forth from gabled 
windows. 

At party- times, thrice in a year, gentlemen were 
admitted : masculine hats hung in the tiled hall, and 
men were led securely guarded by Sisters along the 
icy corridor to the hall where the misses were courtesy- 
ing a while ago, and at the close of the entertainment 
were marched back, still in custody, to their headgear, 
obliged to assume it, and sent off. Affability was the 
tone, but the gyves were there. These monsters to be 
so courageously guarded were relatives of the young 
ladies, and though they came with their mammas and 
grandmammas, yea, with their wives some of them, 
they were not to be trusted. Sister Superior saw to 
that ; geniality incarnate, she received every one at 
the door of the hall, after his skilful pilotage by the 
plainer Sisters through billows of white muslin and 
frilled cashmere, and placed him in safe anchorage in 
a male quarter of the hall. Mutual protection you 
may agree with Sister Superior in supposing it ; if 
the damsels were saved, how much also had the youths 
(ay, and grey-beards) escaped ! Still, a man — by 
which you are to understand what is masculine between 
fifteen and thirty — a man has eyes, and the mere sight 


Zoe the Dancer 25 


of beauty is refreshing. You sigh from afar, but you 
have seen and you have, 0 joy (0 Sister Joy, we might 
meanly interpolate, since that lady is supervisor), you 
have been seen, young gentlemen. The Fates cannot 
deprive you of that. 


Chapter II 

leads us hack, mankind banished^ to the doings of 
Sister Joy 


S ister joy meanwhile had scuttled bunchily 
up to Sister Superior’s room, and been 
closeted therein with her and two other 
Sisters. Their theme was Zoe, their text, 
We must find her a 'place. On this base each Sister 
delivered a homily. 

When, fourteen years earlier, the child had been 
sent to the care of Saint Nytouche’s Sisters, an aunt, 
name and domicile wisely undivulged, but who boldly 
confessed to the relationship, had placed* in the hands 
of the Sisters’ bankers a sum of money sufficient to 
pay for Zoe’s schooling and keep for fifteen years. At 
the expiration of that time the Sisters had undertaken 
to place her in a situation, for which they set them- 
selves in the interval to fit her. Or, should she feel a 
call at the age of nineteen, she might reasonably adopt 
the Sisterhood as a centre of work and devotion. To 
which alternative the Sisters had amiably assented in 
presence of the aunt, rejecting it entirely and irre- 
vocably as soon as the dame departed, which at once 
she did, relieved of all claim to Zoe and sinking un- 
known out of sight. The reason for dismissing Zoe’s 
probable vocation so unanimously and definitely was 
that at the end of her fifteen years’ training that 
young person would be, to quote themselves, without 
26 


Zoe the Dancer 27 


the halfjpenny ; her future piety, devoutness, and value 
as a teacher weighed, the disability outweighed them ; 
Zoe, as a Sister of St Nytouche’s, even at the 
callow age of four, when infant piety holds out no 
definite hope of future consecration, was found want- 
ing. The worthy Sisters, whose order was wholly 
educational, decided therefore to bring Zoe up with 
the idea of being a teacher, but a secular one. The 
alternative hazarded by her most nebulous relative 
was never offered to Zoe ; in no circumstances would 
she have considered it seriously ; she had no vocation ; 
nearly a decade and a half spent in a convent in the 
care of chaste Sisters had not fostered in one pupil the 
desire to emulate her instructresses. She despised 
the women who taught her, belittled their knowledge 
— with how much justice she did not know, as do 
we — refused to hear of their wisdom, and had the 
hardihood to say to the astonished ladies themselves, 
voiceless from horror, that the Sisters’ morals didn’t 
exist. Rebellion was horribly made free of the 
sanctity of St Ny touche’s. 

In all branches of her education Zoe was a cheerful 
failure. Not letters, nor history, neither the use of 
the globes could she understand. Conquerors might 
strive and binomial theorems display themselves 
alluringly before her; she remained cold. No in- 
terest attached, for her, to foreign countries except 
England, and poetry had a dreadful way of becoming 
balderdash when she was called upon to say her little 
piece. She could talk English rapidly and with 
command of many words; no compatriot did she 
know who would criticise her accent. When, as a 


28 


Zo'e the Dancer 


tiny creature, she had lisped her earliest words at the 
convent, she had been helped thereto by a solitary 
English Sister, who loved to hear her own language 
ingenuously pattering from the lips of a child. Until 
Zoe s thirteenth year, that Sister had stayed at the 
convent, and the two had a bond. Since her de- 
parture, accent had triumphed with Zoe ; she spoke 
English grandly, but the taint of a foreign tongue was 
there. No one taught English now at the Convent, 
for the simple reason that Zoe alone knew it and she 
wouldn’t. 

It was all the more necessary to place her in a 
situation. Sister Superior enumerated her qualities 
on her fingers. Little finger, she can make a dress 
fairly well, but her sewing is poor ; annulary, she has 
two languages ; middle finger, she has a charming 
manner when she likes, not very often ; index, she is 
exceedingly personable ; thumb, she ought to be, bless 
us, well-informed ; right thumb, she writes a neat 
hand, but spells atrociously in French, presumably no 
better in English ; index, she is active, and fleet, and 
graceful. Sister Superior’s list, swelled by the 
promptings of her three juniors, came to an end. She 
held up hands imparidigitate. 

“ Seven qualities, none available as assets,” groaned 
the holy woman. She reflexed each finger in turn, 
cogitating ; nothing was the result. 

“French and English,” Sister Patience clung to, 
hopefully. 

“ That is our chance,” said Sister Superior, lighting 
on that finger. “ Two languages.” 

“ Bless us, she can’t teach,” snapped Sister Joy, 


Zoe the Dancer 


29 


remembering vividly two lessons she had supervised 
while Zoe was nominally trying to instil the rudiments 
of her original tongue into the younger ones. 

“ She has another year,” said Sister Patience. 

“ Of course there’s that,” said Sister Superior, “ but 
a year is not too long to seek a post for her. All her 
class-mates are leaving ” 

Heaven be thanked, was Sister Joy’s pious mental 
ejaculation. 

“And she can’t stay here doing nothing.” 

I’ll see she doesn’t do nothing. Sister Joy meditated, 
with rancour. 

“ Send her to me,” said Sister Superior, and her 
attendants went away. 

Zoe came briskly up, — fleet and active she assuredly 
was, — knocked, entered, courtesied — not by any means 
the elaborate performance of two minutes before — and 
stood at ease. She expected, whenever she was 
summoned to Sister Superior’s office, to be told the 
story of her parentage, unknown to her. She knew 
of her coming, mysterious and inexplicable as that of 
Arthur : it had engendered in her the belief that she 
was the scion of some noble race, not perhaps in 
direct line — the novels must be blamed for providing 
that idea — but most surely offspring of wealth, blood, 
and lands. Her willowy figure, among the fleshy 
damsels of Belgium ; her pale hair, without curl and 
silky, in a land where moss-haired girls are as 
common as gooseberries ; her grace and agility, against 
the ponderosity of her companions ; all went to sup- 
port this theory. She claimed nobility mentally as a 
right. Her speculations were wrong ; she sprang 


30 Zoe the Dancer 


from nothing less respectable than the union of a 
British stockbroker’s clerk and a young lady of 
middle class, married early, and dying soon, leaving 
their child orphan at the age of three. The magically 
evanished aunt was sister to the father, whose humble 
savings and investments had realised the very sum 
sufficient to pay St Nytouche s Sisters for fifteen years. 
The amount was small, in comparison with the need, 
as the lady wisely considered it in company with her 
husband. They had a family “ coming along ” ; she 
bundled the small orphan out of England and retired 
to that land instanter, having definitely and for all time 
rid herself of Zoe. The action was more shrewd than 
kind ; it is clear that, in the long run, it was more 
charitable to the lisping object of it. 

The girl’s name was all she retained of those days : 
it was, in addition to the handful of money, all that 
the young parents had to bequeath : there are worse 
legacies than that. If poor Caxe had had a fortune, 
Zoe would have been the poorer. As it was, bundled 
away, the dust of her shaken from avuncular feet, 
hands washed of her, she enjoyed at any rate the 
liberty of poverty, in which state our friends some- 
what, and our relations wholly, are apt to leave us 
severely alone. Now she faced Sister Superior, await- 
ing the exhibition of her genealogical tree. 

''You must have a situation,” Sister Superior 
uttered, genially. 

Zoe crashed to earth. " Yes, Sister Superior.” 

" Teach,” her guardian murmured tentatively, with- 
out interrogation. 

Zoe’s head said no. 


Zo'6 the Dancer 31 


“ A companion ? ” said Sister Superior more loudly. 

“ Perhaps,” demurred Zoe. 

A Sister knocked at the door. “ Wait,” she was 
bidden. 

A lady to see you,” said the keyhole, shrilly. 

“ Eh ? What lady ? ” 

“ The mother of Lalage Cari-PMe.” 

There were younger Carie-Pedes nearing educable 
age ; Sister Superior dismissed Zoe with a recom- 
mendation to the highest powers. Zoe took her way 
back to the hive of femininity ; all were on their 
knees, Sister Joy in her pulpit. Claire recited Eosary. 
Black backs, devoutly curved, formed lines across the 
room. 

“ Sit down,” said Sister Joy, sit down. Vous ^tes 
b4nie entre toutes les femmes.” 

Zoe sat, understanding which part of the Sister’s 
exhortation was meant for her and which not. Let 
us hope the distinction was drawn elsewhere as 
clearly. 

“Kneel, I mean,” said Sister Joy, irascibly. “Je 
vous salue ” 

Zoe knelt. The prayer went on ; she was blocked 
in by all that was feminine ; in the wet courtyard 
the cat gingerly sallied to take the freshened air. 
Eesponses swelled around. In the distance Madame 
Cari-Pede held the ear of Sister Superior. 


Chapter III 


tells in what manner Zoe {so to speak) fl^Lttered her 
Volscians in Gorioli 


B EOTHER FREDERIC, by virtue of his call- 
ing, a sexless thing, was free of the convent. 
Cat-like he basked in the sun of feminine 
confessions, and absorbed minor sins like 
balm. Absolution lay in the hollow of his hand ; he 
considered himself an emissary, but a mortal one, an 
eating, drinking, and sleeping one. If he were 
ignorant of the more abstruse sciences, if culture 
were not his, he at least possessed the wisdom of 
experience. Reading on, you will hold him very 
wise. 

For the pretty girls he invented (he cannot be 
denied invention) the most trying and copious 
penances, which varied directly as the beauty ; the 
plain ones got lighter away, for two reasons. 

First, because penance is to prevent as well as to 
cure, and Nature had safeguarded them. 

Second, because their own appearance, which 
shocked him, would no doubt cause them some pain ; 
lack of beauty is in itself one of the severer forms 
of castigation. 

The plain girls liked him no more for this indul- 
gence, which he had never expressed, you may be 
sure, but which every woman-jack of them, plain or 
pretty, realised. His popularity, by no means a 


Zo'e the Dancer 33 


negligible quantity, lay among the Yenuses. Who 
shall refuse him wisdom ? 

More than seventy years had passed over his 
rubicund head, and had made tonsuring vain. There 
were Sisters at St Nytouche’s and Brothers at the 
Fraternity beside whom he was juvenile. By the 
girls he was considered old, on the ground that he 
was over twenty-six. Dare-devilry, sky-scraping, and 
rake-helliness are not the qualities of three score years 
and ten, but in his way the Confessor was a dear old 
thing. 

Yet not he, not even he, had trod with bare fat 
foot above the ground floor ; and he came every 
morning to say mass and every afternoon on some 
pretext or other. He liked the trot from the modest, 
onion-enclosing door of the Fraternity to the mossy 
and chaste portal that closed on nothing less fragrant 
than oleanders. On his continual way, he was 
obliged to pass a seminary for young gentlemen, 
whose genteel status, noted on a brass-plate, was not 
supported by their manners. From the windows of 
this gymnasium, our honest priest was hailed as 
Rusty Granny, the reddish-brown of his tunic and 
his corpulency suggesting the sobriquet to the far- 
from-barren mind of youth. He bore the abuse that 
accompanied that jeer (for you are by no means to 
suppose that Belgian adolescents let him go at that), 
with the pious resignation of the good soul that he 
was, putting it down to the abominable training that 
the boys suffered at the hands of the secular. 

While Miss Caxe tripped down to her prayer and 
Lalage’s mother held Sister Superior spell-bound in 
c 


34 


Zo'e the Dancer 


the third parlour, our amiable cleric sat comfortably 
in the second, which looked out over the garden. 
He watched the rain, munched his bread and butter, 
washed it down with coffee, and talked to Sister 
Patience, who, loving Zoe sincerely, and fresh from 
her thrilling interview with Sister Superior, hoped to 
pave the way for her favourite by a word to the 
single male. This latter had no very great liking for 
the lady in question nor, for that matter, did he dis- 
like her. She had consistently failed to interest him ; 
he knew she wasn’t clever ; yet she was no fool ; 
he believed her insincere in her profession of religion. 
He revolved, chewing the while, a dozen of her most 
recent confessions ; they were entirely dull ; she had 
been vain, she had been disobedient, idle, impolite. 
Well, she hasn’t, he did her the justice to remember, 
had a vast deal of opportunity to do worse. 

Sister Patience, excluded from this thought, sat in 
silence. The Brother, enjoying his own meditations, 
sat also silent, except for his audible munchings. She 
thought of Zoe’s possible virtues ; he of her probable 
vices. 

“ She means well,” said the Sister. 

“ I trust we all do that,” said the Brother, turning 
his eyes from the rain to the Sister’s face. 

“ I trust so,” she agreed, “ but some do well.” 

“ Ah ! that is more promising,” said Brother 
Frederic. “ I hope, my Sister, that you are among 
those.” 

“ I am among those that strive,” said she. 

“ May you be strengthened and not fall,” said the 
Brother. He brushed crumbs from his gibbous 


Zoe the Dancer 35 


stomach, and put aside his cup. The Sister gathered 
up the tray and cloth. “ I can now see Sister 
Superior,” said Brother Frederic. 

“ She is engaged with a lady.” 

“ Who ? ” he blandly asked. 

“ Lalage’s mamma.” 

“ What about ? ” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ I will see Sister Superior,” he said, in half an 
hour’s time,” and had begun to doze before Sister 
Patience had passed through the doorway with the 
crumbs. 

The parlour door opposite was flung open at the 
same moment and Sister Superior issued forth, flushed, 
excited, beside herself. “ Zoe ! ” she made the walls 
re-echo. Sister Patience put down the tray and ran 
off at a creditable pace for the hall, burning curiosity 
at the spur. 

Sister Superior rubbed her eyes and read the list of 
Sisters, Novices and Pupils that hung conveniently 
near the door, with a recommendation to the Virgin to 
pray for them and protect them. The reading calmed 
her somewhat : the sight of so many vestal names re- 
assured a spirit ruffled by the mention of a man. 

Not only of a man, but a Suitor. 

Here was Sister Superior in her sixty-seventh year, 
and this, we solemnly assure you, this man was the 
very first experience of the kind. 

Can you remain serene, ladies, when you are 
approached about such things, whatever your age, 
whatever your state ? 

The list drawn up for the Virgin’s eye was read 


36 Zoe the Dancer 


through twice. Every Sister, every Novice, every 
Pupil was named twice by Sister Superior that day. 

Into this inviolable casket of the ewig-weibliche, 
the unexpected man to appear was young Cari-Pede, 
and he did it by female proxy, namely, his mother. 
Bertrand’s chief claim to notice was his massive sister 
Lalage, whose beautiful amplitude we have already had 
occasion to describe. The youth himself shared this 
massivity, he was grave, broad and short-necked, but 
this history has nothing to tell of him that shall 
portray him choleric, though the two attributes are 
generally held in communion. From afar, at break- 
ings-up and prize-givings, he had watched Zoe, 
white-apparelled, neatly coiffed, reed-like, pale and 
beautiful, by the side of his immense sister, who, in 
like attire and with black wool vigorously brushed for 
hours beforehand, loomed broad and rosy in the fore- 
front of St Ny touche’s maiden cohorts. 

Only once had he had the happiness of coming 
nearer to Zoe. He had enveloped her hand com- 
pletely in his, while fluently complimenting her on 
her recitation of some gloomy verse or other (which 
she had spoken very badly), and had left the convent 
inflamed beyond expression. From the last breaking- 
up, Bertrand had been excluded ; everybody male had 
been debarred ; all but Brother Frederic had most 
ruthlessly been denied. The actresses from their 
eminent station two feet six above the seated audience 
looked sadly out upon a sea of grandmothers, 
mammas, fond aunts, cousin s-female and sisters. The 
affair fell flat. True, every lady of the band 
enumerated applauded with energy and without 


Zo'e the Dancer 


37 


discrimination ; they did their part well enough ; the 
failure lay on the other side of the footlights. What 
cory'pMe would trip as seductively, had she only her 
grandmother, mamma, etcetera, to applaud her efforts ? 
And, for the time, some of St Ny touche’s girls were 
coryphees. Skirts had been thrown off, petticoats dis- 
carded, and at least three charming damsels had 
appeared, if you please, in tights. There you have it. 
That is why Bertrand and every other brother, cousin- 
male, uncle and grandfather arrived sulkily at half-past 
seven, the close of the entertainment, and got no 
farther than the vestibule. They were attended by 
some of the Sisters, and plied with beer and macaroons, 
but do you imagine that this would placate them ? 
You little know mankind if that is your belief. At 
the end of the tiled corridor, behind the large green- 
painted door on the left, Lalage, Claire and Zoe took 
the stage in their novel attire. Art had it that they 
were men, and no doubt Zoe might have so appeared, 
had she been less coquette ; but the precocious and 
flowery development of the two others precluded that 
idea. It may be that had they better filled their 
parts Bertrand and his sulky fellow-exiles might not 
have cooled their heels in the stony hall. Morose, 
they listened to the patter of applause that fat 
womanly hands ungrudgingly supplied : muffled and 
disguised, the feeble noise of it came to their angry 
ears. Their hands, for the nonce impotent, had before 
now raised thunder in that hall. 

Claire danced a minuet : Lalage bowed with con- 
summate solemnity, and the air of a conqueror of ladies’ 
hearts ; Zoe, for her part, pirouetted in the role of a 


38 Zo'e the Dancer 


frivolous courtier. The play had it that he — Zoe 
— should come to nought for his very levity, and so 
the text made it very properly appear ; every young 
lady repeated her lines with emphasis and correct 
action ; no opportunity had been lost by the pedagogic 
and instructive author to point his moral : yet Zoe 
triumphed. Vice triumphant ? Levity applauded ? 
The Sisters felt it themselves most keenly when Zoe’s 
slim straw-coloured legs whisked about the platform. 
Her acting was no better than anyone’s else, it was 
no worse ; but the others were less adept at dealing 
with their arms and legs ; those limbs obtruded even 
to the indulgent eye ; shapely beyond doubt they 
were, Lalage’s something of the shapeliest, but they 
lacked verve. To the owners of them they were as 
leaden fetters, to be unwieldily borne and scarce to 
be disguised. They possessed Action, but not a whit 
of Twinkle. Before Act 3 was out, Zoe’s legs held 
the stage ; pirouettes she brought in, introduced 
whirls, invented reels, turns, hops, skips, jumps and 
astounding whisks at every moment ; every tick of 
the clock was marked by a flourish, and not a phrase 
came liquidly forth from girlish lips but Zoe must be 
kicking. Standing she assumed the first position — 
you know it, heel in the arch of the other foot, both 
sprucely pointing ; walking, up she went on to the 
very tips of her toes, producing marvellous insteps. 
Mothers, aunts and grandmothers held their breath, 
murmurs of astonished admiration ran about the 
room. The convolutions of the thinnest legs in 
the place belittled the play ; co-performers were 
dizzied. In the wings and all over the hall, Sisters 


Zoe the Dancer 


39 


pursed their lips or bit them or let them fall oafishly 
apart, everyone according to her lights : small good 
this lip-service boded to the innocent cause. Sister 
Patience alone, in a musty corner, working lamps, 
rippled to a laugh of delight. Zoe heard it and 
skipped the blithelier. It was some days later that 
Bertrand’s passion, spared unavailingly this effective 
fillip, took spoken form. He was one of those 
incredibly slow mortals who have not fallen in love 
before their twenty-fourth year. He had been that 
age and over when he had realised his plight : for 
three calendar months had he wandered morose, but 
latterly had taken to reading the more serious poets 
in an excessively deep voice when none was by. Love 
wrought on him so that he committed some to 
memory, and fed the fires of his passion withal as he 
measured yards of calico in his father’s shop. There, 
something absent-minded, he was wont to pass his 
days, aproned and servile, behind the counter. The 
shop was commodiously placed at a street corner : 
stray travellers from two roads found themselves 
unwarily stepping in, lured by the things in the 
window. The place was patronised by the Sisters of 
St Ny touche’s ; there they purchased the linen, calico, 
kerseymere, beige, cashmere and merino that went to 
swell them so bunchily ; over that counter also the 
damsels of the school might, strongly guarded, bargain 
for their muslins, delaines, silks, mulls, and, it is 
whispered, hose ; some things for use, some for orna- 
ment, and all for conquest. It was, if you will grant 
us the simile, like a magazine, where, safely insulated, 
ammunition might long time lie, unharming ; but 


40 


Zo'e the Dancer 


taken forth by such dread sharp-shooters, its innocuity 
would be at an end. 

On one occasion, and for two minutes, Zoe had stood 
there ; but alas for romance, Bertrand had been wash- 
ing the ground-glass counting-house, in soiled blouse, 
necktieless. How could he appear ? He wisely hid, 
but eyed his beauty avidly. And this mighty draper 
desired the hand of Zoe, not to fit with a glove, not to 
bow over, but to possess. 

Sister Superior blew out her cheeks and faced the 
list rotundly. Once and for all time here was Zoe’s 
hash settled ; no situation to find, no year to endure, 
nothing to do but to expend the cash in hand on 
a genteel and modest outfit for the bride. Sister 
Superior had never dreamt such a miracle : verily the 
true faith is supported. 

Zoe came. Sister Superior drew her into the second 
parlour and out again very rapidly, for there was 
Brother Frederic, slumbering ungainly, wedged between 
chairs and table and window. In the corridor then 
Zoe received in a series of telegraphic gasps these 
words : “ Bertrand — Cari-P^de — is going to — marry 
— you” 

She believed her ears, and waited for more. It 
came. 

“ Madame Cari-Pede is here 

“ You must see her 

“ Before you see him ” 

“ Is he here. Sister Superior ? ” Zoe asked, having 
no desire to hear the sentimental side of the business: 
the wits of the Cari-P^de family centred in the mother. 
Zoe preferred dealing with her. 


Zoe the Dancer 41 


“ No, my little one,” said Sister Superior. “ That 
comes later ” ; and she pushed Zoe into the third 
parlour, shutting out immediately Brother Frederic’s 
snores. 

Madame Cari-P^de in her best bonnet, her best 
shawl, her best skirt, her best gloves, her best umbrella 
(on such a dreadful day, but one’s son’s first love is a 
great thing, and a cab is not so very extravagant, once 
in a while), sat by the polished table. Zoe looked at 
her, after a bow,, and in turn at her reflection in every 
facet of the polished furniture. The floor returned 
her ungallantly reversed ; the walls displayed her right 
and left sides and her back ; the cottage piano gave a 
sectional view of her three-quarter back ; the glass- 
case which preserved the Good Shepherd from dust 
elongated her face and bonnet ludicrously ; and every 
reflection showed her agitated in the extreme. Zoe’s 
gaze travelled round and came back to the original, 
who, catching her eye, was moved to speech. 

“ What have you to say to my dear son ? ” she 
inquired timidly. 

Zoe faltered, touched by her tone ; she spoke gravely : 
“ I must think.” She seated herself on one of the 
hard glossy chairs and stared with intentness at the 
glass-encased shepherd. Madame Cari-Pede in silence 
watched her keenly, recalling the very different circum- 
stances of her own betrothal. She had brought her 
husband house and lands ; but Zoe was penniless, Zoe 
had no property, Zoe had no kith or kin, Zoe had 
nothing but her ten talents and her bright wits, and 
— it must not be forgotten, was not, by the lady — 
her agile legs. Spite her nimbleness, Zoe was acknow- 


42 Zo'e the Dancer 

ledged to be far from volatile ; if she were not shrewd, 
she was certainly practical. Watching her with 
Bertrand’s eyes, the fond mother felt the power of 
health and beauty to be very great compared with 
houses and funds. 

Zoe stared the plaster shepherd out of countenance. 
She longed to leave the convent ; life, excluded from 
its dismal walls, smiled to her. She was fond of 
Lalage, who submitted very placidly to affection ; 
she liked this good mother, who, gentle soul, had from 
Zoe’s earliest days had a kind word or a packet of 
sugar plums for the pale-haired orphan on birthdays 
or festivals. At Zoes first communion, which was 
Lalage’s also, a fine cake had been sent to the convent 
bearing both names in spidery sugar-writing; the 
thought had been Lalage’s, and from “ home ” the 
fruity luxury had been promptly sent, the one name 
first effaced to be written fairly with the other. Zo'e^ 
Lalage, they stood with the date in script as marvellous 
as the names. First Communion day for every girl 
had meant presents, letters, images, greetings in every 
form ; into the chapel gaily decorated Zoe was the 
only candidate who led no guest. On the altar no 
flowers with her name attached offered sweet odour to 
Mary. Greatly pained, she was drawn within herself 
with idle and unpleasant speculation, when Lalage, 
for all her passivity a generous, thoughtful creature, 
had come to her, taken her hand and insisted on 
sharing her mother and father with the child for the 
day. High jinks were the order of the festival, Zoe 
had borne her share ; jollification followed feasting, 
and it was astonishing how nimble some of the elders 


Zoe the Dancer 43 

became in a wild and joyous game. Zoe had wept her 
loneliness in her tiny cell for weeks beforehand ; that 
night, weary with pleasure, she cried for happiness. 
It was this peaceful and honest family she was asked 
to join, to become truly Lalage’s sister, to claim this 
worthy man and woman for her parents, to live 
surrounded by gentleness and be no longer a kinless, 
homeless, penniless girl. The vision called to her. 
She saw in fantasy the door of the convent swinging 
wide for her to pass out and clanging to behind her 
for ever ; the door of the sunny house over the shop 
would also open, for her to pass in. The flow of her 
imagination was abruptly stayed. She foresaw that it 
would be changing one prison for another. For the 
first time, Bertrand came into her reckoning ; she 
scrutinised him mentally without bias ; she approved 
him entirely, but he failed to charm her mind’s eye in 
the part of husband — her husband, that is ; qud 
husband she found him admirable, patient, unintelligent, 
fond. She hoped he would marry some nice girl who 
should appreciate these qualities and prove a blessing 
to him. 

She had gazed, up to this point, so hard at the 
Good Shepherd that her eyes crossed and she saw two 
of his plaster head and neck. She closed her eyes 
and opened them again and rose. 

“ Shall I leave you, my dear ? ” Bertrand’s mother 
asked. 

Zoe paused, reflecting that a day, a week, a life- 
time would bring no different side of the question to 
view. 

“ I will come again to-morrow,” said Madame 


44 


Zoe the Dancer 


Cari-Pede. I will give you until to-morrow afternoon 
to decide,” she went on. 

“ I can’t marry him,” said Zoe, in a firm tone. 

His mother flinched, held up a hand in amazement 
and defence. “ I will give you until to-morrow,” she 
announced. “ Consider, my dear miss, he loves you, 
Bertrand loves you, my son loves you. He asks you 
honourably in marriage. You have no mother, no 
guardian save these good Sisters. Don’t, I beg of 
you, don’t decide lightly, since you have no one to 
decide for you, scarcely anyone to advise you. You 
must decide for yourself. Think. Consider. De- 
liberate. Eeflect. Take time.” 

“ I have thought. I have considered. I have taken 
time,” said Zoe gently. “ I can’t marry him,” she said, 
all drooping. 

His mother rose, shook her silken raiment into 
place, stepped to the door. Dismay struggled with 
anger on her broad face ; she no longer seemed 
benevolent ; huffed and hurt she was decidedly. That 
the interview should take such a turn amazed her. 
Zoe’s heart went out to the poor soul. Hot thus 
could she let her go. 

“ I’ve been tempted, dear mother of Lalage,” she 
said suddenly, taking that lady’s hand, “ I’ve been 
tempted to say yes, to marry Bertrand. A nd why ? 
Just to get away from this. But I don’t love him, 
and in after years I might meet someone whom I could 
love. And that, you must allow, is far from a good 
thought in a bride. So I resist. I refuse him. I 
say no!' 

Madame Cari-Pede was visibly affected by her 


Zoe the Dancer 45 


honesty ; the hand Zoe held had tightened to eloquence 
as the speech went on. Now she caught the girl to 
her. 

You unhappy, my dear ? Lalage is not so.” 

“ Lalage has small need to be ; everything she 
wants, she gets ; she’s leaving, and she has always 
been free to go home for holidays ; she only spends 
term-time here ; other times she is with people who 
love her. She will go to her home and soon marry 
someone she loves.” 

“ You might grow to love Bertrand,” suggested his 
jealous mother. “ He is so good, so honourable, so 
affectionate. You couldn’t help but love him in 
time.” 

“ I respect and like him now,” said Zoe. 

“ Then marry him, my dear. That is already much. 
The rest will be bound to come in time.” 

Zoe shook her head gravely, and a pause ensued 
during which Sister Joy could have screamed for the 
pain in her ear. 

“ I could almost marry him,” said Zoe at last, “ for 
the sake of having you for a mother.” 

“ You won’t risk it for your own sake,” Madame 
Cari-Pede asserted. 

“ No, it’s for him I refuse,” said Zoe, “ I should have 
nothing to lose, all to gain ; he’d be the loser. 0, don’t 
you see,” she cried, all of a rush, “ it’s not marriage I 
want, it’s freedom.” 

H’m, thought the Sister at the keyhole. 

Madame Cari-P^de understood in a vague way. 
“You must get a situation,” she cogitated. “They 
must place you.” 


46 


Zo'e the Dancer 


“ Yes, place me, that’s it, let them place me.” 

“ I must go to my boy,” said the elder woman. Both 
sighed, they embraced fondly, kissed without reserve, 
and each furtively wiped a tear. Zoe went out, she 
found the amiable Sister Joy in the corridor, but at a 
good distance. The Sister fetched Sister Superior. 

Pentecost was revived ; Sisters ran up like dogs to 
a squabble, the group swelled, a crowd it were fitly 
called. Every Sister, regardless of her lack of hearers, 
told of her experiences with Zoe. Indictments, 
accusations, incriminations hurtled harmlessly about ; 
every venial fault, every imaginable mistake that Zoe 
had possessed and made, was brought to light. She 
had the grace to blush thoroughly during the whole 
scene. Madame Cara-Pede joined her pipe to the 
chorus, recapitulating Zoe’s candour, her honesty, 
Bertrand’s virtues, his affectionate disposition, his 
certain despair, her own goodness and her indebtedness 
to the Sisters. She was thus spared the detailed 
recital of Zoe’s misdemeanours ; the good creature even 
in the midst of her trouble could not bear to be talked 
down. Her pain was largely assuaged by the free use 
of her voice, but in sign of her agitation, she forgot to 
send for her own Lalage, or even to ask how that 
passive monster did. The chatter aroused Brother 
Frederic ; with the dexterity that is made perfect by 
practice, he hoisted himself up, and clattered with his 
amazing protuberance out on to the tiles, where he 
hovered about the group. Zoe saw his advent with 
dismay. The tales so loudly re-echoing were many 
of them ill-fitted for man’s hearing. He beckoned to 
her. 


Zo'e the Dancer 47 

“ What is this, my child ? ” he inquired, very like, 
in tone and eagerness, an errand boy on the out- 
skirts of a crowd. 

“ What is what, my Brother ? ” asked Zoe in return. 
He expressed his meaning commodiously in a gesture, 
pointing to the seething Sisters. 

They are talking,” said Zoe. 

“ So I observe,” answered the Brother without 
irritation. “ And about ? ” 

“ Me,” our minx had to confess, her cheeks aflame 
at a tale of Sister Industry whom the scapegrace had 
once most foully entrapped ; this history tells no more. 
The Brother was at a disadvantage ; he could catch no 
story entire, many indeed were screamed piecemeal and 
left unfinished as others were recalled to the tellers. 

“ What are they going to do with you ? ” wondered 
Brother Frederic. 

“ Eat me alive, I expect.” 

“Have you ever confessed this to me?” he asked, 
as a strange sentence reached him whole. 

“ Not in detail,” said Zoe. 

“ Why not ? ” he inquired, with diminishing 
blandness. 

“ I couldn’t, to a man,” she blushed. “ You ought 
really not to be here now, only you can’t hear.” 

Brother Frederic gasped at her ; the incoherency 
of the information flying about tormented him the 
more. 

With such crying and ejaculating, waving of arms 
and twiddling of fingers, the party arrived at the door, 
Zoe and the panting Brother on their flank. The 
tone changed, recitals abruptly stopped; all were 


48 Zo'e the Dancer 


smiling, benignity flowed from them. Madame Cari- 
PMe bowed, Sister Superior bowed, her henchwomen 
bowed, Zoe dropped her regal courtesy, Madame nodded 
to her kindly, and the affair was of the inviolate 
past. Brother Frederic bowed a great deal too late, 
no one noticing him. 

Miss Caxe turned her thin back on the silent and 
fearful group of Sisters, who having barred the door 
with dread noise, turned in bulk to resume their 
several tasks. With her head disdainfully erect, she 
made for the corner, where the roomy hall dwindled 
into a corridor. 

“ Zoe,” said Sister Superior. 

The delinquent turned, looked calmly at the group. 

“ II faut me placer,” she said, and marched round 
the corner. 


Chapter IV 


takes the reader finally away from the shelter of convent 
walls and sets him in the whirl of commerce 


T he Sisters and Brother Frederic stood in 
a partial silence ; no word came from 
their lips, but their breath surged noisily. 
They moved with one accord towards the 
parlour lately occupied by Brother Frederic and 
Morpheus. Those that could enter did so, a con- 
tingent remained in the corridor, eyes and ears alert. 
They waved their heads mutely in their coifs. 

“ What are we going to do with that Briton ? ” said 
Sister Superior. 

“ What is it all ? ” asked Brother Frederic, who had 
not spoken since Zoe’s blushing reproof had robbed 
him of articulation. 

With dread solemnity and emphasis Sister Superior 
recounted everything, illustrating the misdemeanant’s 
ingratitude and blindness, expatiating on the former 
shortcoming, and finishing with implied anathema. 
Brother Frederic began to see light. 

“ But who wanted to marry her ? ” 

He was told fully, much of the former explanatory 
discourse was repeated blithely. It was said that the 
wooer, so deliberately refused, would have the shop, 
was almost a partner now, and that the children 
of the union would be bound to come to St 
Hytouche’s. 


50 


Zoe the Dancer 


“ Dear me, you look pretty far forward,” commented 
the Brother, and lapsed into retrospective meditation. 
Sisters eyed him hopefully ; they held it monstrous 
that Zoe should have refused. 

“ She said,” whispered Sister Joy, in the pause, 
“ she said she didn’t want marriage but liberty ! 
There ! ” 

“ Oh ! ” cried the Sisters in chorus. 

Brother Frederic fixed the speaker with a severe 
look. You are a fine one,” he began, in his coldest 
tone, “my Sister, to pick holes in this poor child’s 
character. I saw you holding your ear with your 
handkerchief. You’ve been listening. You have, I 
say. You are suffering from ear-ache, heaven-sent. 
That is why,” he said, generally, with a view to a 
homily, “ that is why keyholes are draughty. Man 
makes the keyholes, it is true, but Providence blows 
the draught. I will speak to you later. Sister Joy. 
You may retire.” 

She retired as speedily as she might. 

“ Young Cari-Pede,” continued the amazing brother, 
in the respectful silence that fell, “ is no better than 
an ox.” 

Sister Superior, still aghast from the behaviour of 
Zoe and the sudden swoop on her erring junior, met 
this third shock with no defence. She went down 
before it, mentally ; her few wits scattered ; ideas 
jumbled each other hopelessly ; words and idioms 
without bearing on the case came dumbly to her 
quavering lips. Brother Frederic stared stonily at 
each of the Sisters in turn, his bovine accusation un- 
answered. When his gaze met that of Sister Superior 


Zo'e the Dancer 


51 


she was just beginning to gather her wits, and an idea 
took form. That minx, it clearly became, has bewitched 
him. She did not express it. Second thoughts are 
often better, for production, at any rate. She awaited 
fresh developments. Brother Frederic held her 
eye. 

The girl is old enough and wise enough to choose.” 

Thought number two. This man is evidently 

mad. 

Brother Frederic, not being telepathically in- 
clined, ignored these criticisms perforce. He spoke 
again. 

“ She’ll marry higher than an ox or a draper, see if 
she doesn’t. She’s a charming creature. Any man 
might be proud to possess her.” 

The third thought in the mind, still whirling, of 
Sister Superior got no farther than 0 you wicked old 
man, I do think and had to stop. 

Brother Frederic rose ; the process, in his most 
exalted moments, had its own dignity. “ Understand, 
if you please,” he intoned with his hands laced before 
him over his stoutness, “ that Miss Caxe is my child, 
inasmuch as I have been her religious instructor, her 
leader in doctrinal questions and at all times her 
confessor. I approve in the highest degree her 
conduct on this occasion. She must have wisdom to 
act so sensibly. Generous her behaviour shows her 
to be. I am very sure,” he went on, solemnly, “that 
had one of you been proposed for ” 

“ Oh ! ” screamed they all in unison. 

“ Miss Caxe would not have listened at the door. 
She is to be left unchastised for this. What she said 


52 Zoe the Dancer 


was very sage. I approve her idea. I commend it. 
II faut la placer.” 

It was my idea, thought Sister Superior sulkily. 

“We will place her. I give you a free hand, my 
Sisters. Place her anywhere you like away from 
here, except in Cari-Pede’s arms.” After which 
unparalleled indelicacy, Brother Frederic rolled him- 
self away. 

The bell rang long and loud. Translated by the 
aid of crying digestive organs, its speech meant gollter ; 
it was four o’clock, a meal called lunch and con- 
sisting of bread and coffee decked the refectory table ; 
no girls intruded, even the novices fed apart. The 
Sisters shuffled in list shoes along to their quar- 
ters, speculating silently. Sister Joy awaited 
them. 

“ Does Brother Frederic expect me ? ” she asked, 
very coldly. 

“ He’s gone,” said Sister Industry, and a half- 
hearted conversation began about the rain. It was 
not brilliant, neither was it sustained. The Sisters 
finished their meal in complete dumbness. 

Brother Frederic, paddling home in the lee of 
damp-sodden walls, chuckled to himself, I think I 
touched ’em up a bit,” he murmured, joyously. “ I 
think I roused ’em.” 

Eude boys from the Gymnasium yelled at him ; he 
kissed his hand to them, derision turned with swift- 
ness to infuriate passion. A soft answer, it is widely 
understood, maddens a boy. The old gentleman 
splashed past, his wet tunic dabbled at his bare ankles, 
muddy water flowed between his foot and wooden 


Zo'e the Dancer 


53 


sole ; yet was he entirely content. A certain savoury 
feeling of amaze mingled with his satisfaction, he had 
taken himself unawares, and you know how pleasant 
that is. He had had no notion of defying the whole 
Sisterhood, castigating the second in command, re- 
primanding Sister Superior, giving the band a dressing- 
down, and abusing a worthy citizen, all for the sake of 
a chit of an Anglo-Belgian, Until his first speech in 
that memorable scene, he had been quite ignorant of 
the part he was to play. Complacently he recalled 
his tone and words. 

He had no idea what Zoe should do. Homeless, 
friendless children were rare at St Hytouche’s. The 
responsibility had never been referred to him. He 
regained the Fraternity, kicked off his soles, rubbed 
his feet on the fortnightly handkerchief he affected, 
and forgot the damsel. She faded completely from 
his mind, and he dozed and prayed alternately in a 
state of intense comfort, which no sense of responsi- 
bility came to disturb. 

Hot so the Sisters. Each one remembered with 
extreme vividness the circumstances and cause of the 
scene. Their refreshment at an end. Sister Superior 
rose. 

“ My Sisters,” she began, as blandly as the Brother 
himself,- “ we have, every one of us, our duties 
towards each of the children and young women in 
our charge.” 

She means Zoe, was generally thought. 

“ To any that have no father, our duty is increased. 
Still more, when a girl is motherless ; should any be 
unfortunate enough to lack both parents, we owe to 


54 


Zoe the Dancer 


that one our tenderest solicitude and most watchful 
care. Such an one, my Sisters, exists. I speak of Zoe 
Caxe ; motherless, fatherless, without kith, and with- 
out kin (and no money either),” she interpolated in a 
different tone, “ she has every claim to our attention, 
instruction, and advice. We have for fourteen years, 
some of us, others for part of that time, paid her these 
duties. But they have by no means lapsed. We 
may not cease to be at her right hand and to 
strengthen and counsel her while she is in our midst. 
She has thought fit to refuse a most honourable and 
profitable offer of marriage. She is a woman in years. 
She realises probably that marriage is not her voca- 
tion. She has told me to-day that she wants to earn 
her own living. She shall do so ; I have assured her 
of my acquiescence in the plan.” 

Sister Superior stopped abruptly. A Sister at the 
end of the table was bouncing with a suggestion. At 
this magnificent opportunity to produce it she burst 
forth, incoherently and with apparently little 
reason : 

“ Hairdresser in the most fashionable part seeks 
young lady of good address and appearance as 
assistant. Must have,” said the Sister sonorously, 
“ must have good hair. Apply Joseph. Joseph,” 
she went on, so that it seemed to be part of the 
advertisement, “ is the clever young man that has 
invented the infallible. It makes your hair grow 
in a week. Baldness overcome ! Don’t grow old ! 
There ! ” 

Sister Superior pressed gently for elucidation. 

“ The turnips,” said the eloquent junior. “ It came 


Zoe the Dancer 


55 


round the turnips. I know I oughtn’t to read it, but 
I saw that. I thought of that — of Zoe.” 

“ A newspaper,” it was hazarded. 

“ J ust so,” said Sister Superior. “ You have kept 
it, my Sister ? ” 

The paper was brought. 

Zoe read the advertisement also, in the privacy of 
Sister Superior’s room. She was surprised and pleased 
to find there was to be no storm. She stroked her 
silky head and squeezed her chignon lovingly. 

“ I have good hair. Sister Superior.” 

“ Beautiful hair, my child.” 

“Thank you. Will you apply to Joseph or 
shall I?” 

No longer had it taken to settle her mind than that. 
Sister Superior wrote ; to the piously inclined imagi- 
nation of that lady, as to that of Zoe, Joseph was an 
agent of angelic mission. He proved to be a much 
bepufied and curled agent; fashionably attired, as 
befitted his high station ; genteel in manner. He 
arrived at the convent in company with a sister, 
whose share in the business was equal to his, but 
whose modishness, curliness, and gentility were 
negligible. She was pale with the pallor of disease, 
dull-skinned, grey-haired ; shy, kindly and well- 
spoken. It was she who expatiated on the advantages 
of the post they offered. A hair restorer, miraculous 
in effect and ridiculously cheap, to quote advertise- 
ments, was the hope of these two. On it they intended 
to found their fame : if posterity knew them, it should 
be through the infallible liquid. They waxed eloquent 
in duet of this astounding remedy. Sister Superior’s 


56 


Zo'e the Dancer 


vows necessitated a short crop ; she listened civilly 
and without interruption, but without enthusiasm. 

In a pause she brought them back to her charge. 
“ She can speak English,” she suggested, coaxingly, 
and sent for her. Zoe was particularly 'charming. 
She intended, whatever the means, to leave the con- 
vent ; it had not appeared convenient to quit it on 
the possessing arm of a lover in the drapery line. As 
a free woman she would step outside, shake off the 
dust of the place and make her way in the world. 
She meditated this in measuring the visitors. 

“ Below her knees,” she heard Sister Superior 
murmur, and caught the three gazing at her hair. 
She was placed. Terms were agreed upon. A 
lodging was assured her in the house of Joseph’s aunt. 
Zoe felt her chains loosen ; more than one heart was 
lightened in the convent. 

She skipped all round the hall, followed by Lalage’s 
full eyes. “ I’m going,” warbled Miss Caxe, “ I’m 
going to be a shop-girl.” Nobody believed her. 
Claire thought the jest poor ; Lalage wondered that 
someone didn’t fall in love with the delightful 
creature ; others gaped in silence. “ I’m off,” sang Zoe, 
“ off to be a shop-girl.” She danced and whirled and 
pirouetted in her heathenish way right under the nose 
of Sister Joy, singing lustily. That unflagging Super- 
visor allowed the freedom unchecked ; a certain recent 
tussle with Brother Frederic preventing her wreaking 
her spite on the girl. 

“ Off to the shop,” chanted Zoe, and kissed the 
marvelling Lalage. Claire permitted herself a shudder 
abhorring with true aristocratic feeling the notion of 


Zoe the Dancer 57 


shops. She figured Zoe in court-dress and decided 
it suited her better than the shop-girl’s attire. As 
we say, not one believed the song. 

Monday saw Zoe leave the convent in company 
with a small black box and three hundred and 
seventy-two francs in specie. 

The world was hers. 


Chapter V 
carries us far and wide 


Z OE’S new home lay in an antique house in 
the oldest part of the town ; brilliant shops 
and modern dwellings had been built near 
by on the sites of ancient houses now 
demolished. The beauty and fashion of the city lived 
within three minutes’ walk of the place ; on one side 
the backs of their gorgeous apartments looked with 
distinct aloofness over the remnants of the old town. 
They blocked the sun-setting very thoroughly ; 
night came early to the humbler people living in the 
hollow. 

It was a business to get into the house ; you stepped 
into a damp grave some thirty inches square, and plied 
a knocker that shed rust in fine powder ; you were let 
into another grave a foot lower and not very much 
larger, while your hostess made to shut the door. This 
was the onus of the business ; she effected the operation 
delicately by dextrous shuffling of herself, the door and 
you, until the hinges would work ; her size militated 
against the performance. With any one as slight as 
Miss Caxe, the affair was speedily over and the fortunate 
entrant was made free of the kitchen that radiated heat 
from every corner. It was surprising that the door- 
graves should be so very damp, when the room was 
always so dry that one’s usual form of salutation was a 
ticklish cough. The kitchen was lighted nominally 

58 


Zoe the Dancer 


59 


by a window, wbicb disclosed balf-lengtb portraits, 
from the wrong end, of passers-by ; in reality the bright 
open fire illumined it. 

Zoe’s room was an ill-lighted cupboard containing a 
bed, a close-stove, a chest of drawers, and a chair. To 
dress with ease, she had to put the chair on the bed and 
use the stove — ordinarily cold — as a table. To this 
haven she was driven, and in this luxury of freedom 
from surveillance she slept her first night. 

Morning brought her great energy ; she dressed with 
feverish haste, knelt to her prayers, missing never a 
bead, but her mind was earthlier employed. In the 
kitchen an odour of spirits reigned, not emanating 
from the solitary occupant ; following it, Zoe came to 
the door ; the trail was distinguishable in the damp 
air of the morning. It hung above her path until 
she had passed a small public-house ; she was astonished 
at the sweetness of the air that lay beyond. 

The rainy nights left pavements ghstening and cold, 
the air wet and obscure. The chill asphalte struck 
through thin shoes and cotton hose ; the damp pointed 
unerringly to weak spots on lungs. Trees overhead 
dripped monotonously, their stray drops sliding craftily 
between collar and neck. The boulevards hung mistily 
secret; all that passed were workers, not pausing to 
chat, pattering along in disgust among the icy 
puddles. 

Out of this unwelcome moistness came the street- 
cleaners with hose and turn-cock ; what the rain had 
left untouched they proceeded to deluge. The passers- 
by groaned ; ill-directed streams of water splashed 
about them, not douching them entirely, but ricochet- 


60 


Zo'e the Dancer 


ting from curb or tree-trunk in sbowers. At every groan 
tbe scavengers laughed ; to protests they replied with 
ribaldry. 

Zoe slipped successfully past, escaping both soaking 
and coarse gibe. Her feet were icy-cold, her face blue, 
her eyes red-rimmed ; an exquisite pain held her nose, 
the flesh of her arms trembled. So benumbed was she 
by the autumn cold that she could not open the door of 
the shop. A servant let her in, without greeting, and 
to Zoe’s inquiries as to where she must go, returned an 
uncivil answer. Martha stepped out, drew Zoe into 
a httle room back of the shop, and gave her breakfast. 
The rich coffee and sweet bread put hfe into the girl ; 
her face grew warm, her hands had force. 

Together they arranged the shop ; glass doors were 
pohshed ; jars of pomade, boxes of powder, daintily 
wrapped cakes of soap were brought out and disposed 
invitingly about. Two beautiful waxen busts, so life- 
like that a drunken person had held one in conversation 
for ten minutes on a certain occasion, were set ready for 
Joseph’s attention. The arrival of that Napoleon set 
the place in a bustle ; two young men appeared and 
assumed spotless coats and aprons, stropping was heard, 
the servant set out basket-laden, Martha screaming 
instructions after her down the street. Zoe was sent 
to put on a cotton wrapper, elegantly cut ; it encom- 
passed her slimness to perfection ; its lavender tint 
became her. Unshaven gentlemen began to dart into 
the two sanctuaries behind the shop, emerging after a 
while pink-chinned, tentatively passing finger-tips over 
their fresh faces. Martha, her working apron discarded, 
reigned benevolently over the soaps and combs. The 


Zo'e the Dancer 


61 


wax heads, newly coifEed, simpered at their own satin- 
draped chests. 

J oseph led Zoe to the window, installed her in a chair 
there ; a table decked with brilliant instruments lay 
before her, a velvet footstool under her feet ; green 
curtains hung behind. She sat with her left profile 
in full view of all passers. Joseph ran out to the pave- 
ment, back again to set a fold anew, out to the road, to 
the very trees opposite, and returned content. The town 
was lively now ; a throng of people began to pass, not the 
hurried workers of the early morning, but people of 
leisure, housewives trotting to market, clerks on their 
masters’ business. 

Joseph unpinned Zoe’s hair and strolling passers 
stopped open-mouthed. He brushed it, sprinkled it 
with the amazing restorer, combed it, and braided and 
banded it to perfection. Beauty of that time was 
content to leave her hair unfrizzled and unwaved and to 
reveal the form of her head. The hair was drawn 
smoothly back from the brow and up from the nape, 
and then woven into a solid mass behind the head. 
Coquettes of to-day laugh at such a style of hairdressing, 
but it had many points to recommend it — for the pretty. 
It set off a fine brow, a graceful neck, and above all a 
beautiful head. We are apt in these degenerate days 
to admire our damsels for their amount of curls and 
puffs ; we allow them to hide their foreheads, to shade 
their fine eyes with distorted bouffes of hair ; others 
again we placidly regard with delicate necks concealed 
beneath ill-placed pads of curls and twists ; some of our 
timid fairs hide their shells of ears; others disguise 
their heads, concealing them under piles of French 


62 


Zoe the Dancer 


combings and negro-crimpings that make tbe thinking 
man despair for the brains beneath. Their grand- 
mothers did otherwise : well they knew their beauties. 
Their loveliness has been passed on, but into hands that 
treat it ill. The friseur triumphs and Venus hides her 
smooth head until a wdser age. 

Mermaid-like, Zoe sat in the window and suffered 
combings at the apt fingers of Joseph. From his 
brushings and partings and braidings her head arose 
triumphant, broad-browed, and delicately balanced ; 
the artist slipped a net of coloured thread over the 
marvellous knot, lavender to match the wrapper. He 
then constrained Zoe to rise ; she rose, bowed with 
consummate grace to the gaping crowd on the pavement, 
paraded the small window with an air, balancing her 
trim head backward and forward, courtesied again and 
was seated. Joseph meanwhile stood inside, himself 
bepuffed and undulated out of all masculinity, rubbing 
the hands that had wrought the masterpiece ; open 
mouths and round eyes filled the window ; people 
taking the air on the now lively boulevard saw the block 
and hastened to increase it ; the side-street drew off 
the foot-traffic of the main road. Youngsters scenting 
a fire, old ladies spoiling for a police interference, all 
scuttled up to the crowd, edged and slithered in, 
were no whit disappointed. The attraction was 
new. 

Joseph unpinned the hair, brushed and so forth, 
right through the programme again. Zoe was admir- 
ably at ease. The vulgar gaze of the idlers was inex- 
pressibly savoury to her; she noted with side glance 
the varying types that thronged about. The casual 


Zoe the Dancer 63 

observer must have believed from her air that she had 
submitted to the dual process of staring and hair- 
dressing for months. Nothing in her mien betrayed 
that she was in the first hours of her novitiate. Joseph 
glowed with success ; he delighted silently in her 
phlegmatic attitude. The restorer, already widely 
advertised, began to sell ; gentlemen chiefiy stepped 
in for three francs’ worth ; soap, combs, tooth-brushes, 
razors, all these masculine appurtenances were popular 
at once. 

Eleven o’clock passed, Zoe felt hungry ; half-past 
eleven, the hour of the convent dinner, she was famished ; 
midday, she began to feel faint ; Joseph kept inde- 
fatigably on ; the street was packed with people, 
students hurrying from classes to boarding-house, 
shopmen popping out for their dinners, priests, ladies, 
business men, people of leisure, all the ambulant popula- 
tion of the town was drawn to the barber’s shop. The 
middle-class elbowed the people, townships trod on the 
toes of a stray aristocrat, commerce and independence 
pushed each other about. And Zoe sat unmoved. 
Yet she had ceased to appreciate the stare of the crowd, 
and her head drooped, very slightly, but drooped, 
beneath the unremitting vigour of Joseph’s brush. 
He had breakfasted later, and substantially, also his 
thirty-five years needed less nourishment than her 
eighteen. Half -past twelve drew on, the crowd lessened ; 
Joseph led her into the parlour ; one of the assistants 
had taken Martha’s place, the other coped single- 
handed with the unshaven gentlemen. Cut-and-dried 
opinions concerning the weather filtered desultorily 
into the shop. 


64 Zoe the Dancer 


The odour of Martha’s soup was soul-restoring ; 
Zoe ate plentifully, was urged to eat even more ; warmth 
and strength were revived by the fragrant herbs and 
crisp biscuits that ended the meal. The beer that 
Joseph and his sister drank had no attraction for her. 
She sipped water. 

“ Now I see,” said Martha, “ why you’re so pale and 
slight.” 

“ I am pale by nature,” Zoe assured her. 

“ Nonsense,” the good woman said, “ every girl 
should have a rosy face.” 

Joseph demurred. “ Beer fattens, Martha.” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ And makes red cheeks.” 

“ Of course.” 

“ Then she shan’t drink it. Stoutness and redness 
don’t go with that kind of hair.” 

“ How if I stouten naturally,” asked Zoe, “ and grow 
red-faced ? ” 

“ Lots of English do,” said Martha. 

“ Lots of English don’t,” Joseph retorted, “ at 
Mademoiselle’s age.” 

The afternoon was spent as the morning had been. 
At six the shop was closed ; Zoe helped to put away the 
pots of unguent and tortoise-shell combs, assumed her 
hat, and went home. 

Thus every day, except for the ten minutes morning 
and evening to set out and replace the counter-fittings, 
Zoe’s occupation was passivity. She did nothing but 
sit still, rise, bow, sit again ; so -her days passed. The 
constant brushing and handling of her hair was entirely 
soothing. At times, particularly after the midday 


Zoe the Dancer 


65 


meal, she dozed, and the idle watchers on the pavement 
smiled to themselves. Their comments, when she was 
alert, rejoiced her exceedingly. She loved their gaping 
admiration when her hair was unpinned and hung 
straight down her back. Ahs and ohs of pleasure 
greeted her ears when Joseph, with the pride of a pro- 
prietor, lifted great handfuls and let the yellow silk 
filter through his fingers. Even more delicious was the 
envy of modish ladies who decried the colour, texture 
and straightness of the hair. The humourists of the 
gutter came close to the window to shriek their witticisms 
at her ; there was no need, the glass admitted nearly 
every sound. Envy, worship and vulgarity alike left 
her as they found her, erect, and calm irnder Joseph’s 
comb. The restorer sold well, dwellers from the south 
of the town came on pilgrimages to her shrine, watched 
the beauty for a while, made bets as to whether she were 
clock-work. Neighbours of the convent recognised her 
vaguely ; that head, that form, that hair, above all, 
they had seen, but where and how they failed to 
remember. 

Madame Cari-Pede on her marketing day saw the 
crowd, edged alertly in, recognised as you may guess, 
immediately, and — held her peace. She thought the 
girl happier in such circumstances than cribbed in the 
convent. None of the disadvantages of such a life 
presented themselves to her little sensitive mind. She 
spoke of the sight to no one. When Cari-PMe 
himself came in with an account of this yellow- 
haired wax doll, as he held her to be, little interest 
was shown in the family. He, good soul, had never 
noticed Zoe’s hair or looks; from his idle chatter 


66 


Zoe the Dancer 


nothing was to be feared. As for Bertrand, he went 
a- junketing no more ; no live show-dolls tempted him 
afar. 

Zoe, with the comer of her eye, had seen Madame 
Cari-Pede, and also that meddlesome old lady, Brother 
Frederic. He managed to approach the window, saw 
open-mouthed and was seen. A moment passed, her 
eye came round, the cleric bowed, Zoe smiled and the 
incident was at an end. Zoe wondered if he would 
“ tell,” judged that he would, trusted tha the wouldn’t, 
and sat in a tremor. She need not have been alarmed. 
Once the heavy door of the convent had closed after 
her, it was unHkely that it should ever open again to 
let her in. 

Among the people who came regularly to the window 
was a young woman of style. She frowned, stared, 
looked contemptuous, strutted past at least twice in 
the day. Her arrival at all hours combated the idea 
that she was in a shop. She glowered at the quiet 
model with evident hate ; varied her programme 
occasionally by walking past, head averted, chignon 
towards the shop. Joseph appeared not to notice her. 
The angry lady returned punctually next day. Zoe 
remarked a cast in her fine eye, very noticeable in the 
angry glare ; and that she stared at her, never at the 
hairdresser. 

Oho ! thought the little head under Joseph’s brush, 
this young person comes to see my employer. 

She took an opportunity one morning to sound him 
casually. The damsel came, sneered, curled a full lip, 
looked blackly at Zoe and bounced ofi. 

“ She looks cross,” murmured Zoe. 


Zoe the Dancer 67 

“ She is cross,” said Joseph. 

“ Who is she ? ” 

“ The lady I am going to marry,” Joseph informed her. 

As in illustration of this future eminence as lady of the 
shop, the young person came in next day. Before Zoe 
had realised what was happening, the young woman had 
whirled into the shop, poked her angry head between the 
green curtains and arrived half way through her first 
speech. This oration was an indictment of Zoe’s 
modesty ; her boldness, her brazenness, her absolute 
and astounding lack of common decency, were dis- 
cussed : no one with the elements of modesty would, 
it appeared, make such a show of herself ; the speaker 
touched in passing on Joseph’s poor taste, his vulgarity, 
and his fickleness, which left her, she assured them 
generally, as it found her, cold. Her own eloquence 
certainly left her panting. WTien she reached a state 
of dumbness, Joseph stepped out from the window, 
took her by the arm and, with a graceful bow indeed, 
put her on the pavement. 

“ My dear girl,” he observed, as a form of farewell, 
“ you are really very silly. Consider your position.” 

The crowd which had gathered to enjoy the unusual 
sight of a quarrel in the hairdresser’s window, cheered 
derisively. They had highly appreciated the strange 
effect of this irate head, appearing bodyless, as if by 
legerdemain through the curtain. Joseph returned to 
the window and his task. He felt Zoe’s head somewhat 
unsteady and looked round to see her face. 

“ I want to laugh,” she said. 

“ Do, by all means,” said Joseph, blandly, and joined 
her ringing laugh himself. The gaping crowd laughed ; 


68 Zoe the Dancer 

the paralysed assistants and customers, who had all 
been overcome by the scene, laughed ; Martha laughed. 
The two juniors stropped their razors, the two lathered 
gentlemen elevated their chins and Joseph brushed on. 

That night Zoe went forth earlier ; she wanted to buy 
a petticoat and the shops in her employer’s quarter 
were too expensive. Southward she knew where to 
find a cheaper place and had received leave to go thither. 
She took her time to choose her garment, strolled com- 
placently through all departments of the shop and 
coveted ever5rthing. The shop began to grow empty. 
No more customers entered. Boys ran about with 
shutters, snappy attendants raised their voices, rolled 
ribbons and slammed cupboards. Zoe had to go. It 
had been perfectly fine when she had started out ; 
it was now pouring. The pavements were running 
water. Zoe was without an umbrella ; workwomen 
were scurrying past with skirts turned up, under huge 
dingy umbrellas that gaped in every seam. An omnibus 
of strange form and mouldy smell was due to stop at the 
corner, for the north ; the vehicle arrived, it was already 
half-fuU, the glass of its windows ran wet within and 
without. Men and women stormed the narrow door, 
the boy on the step was powerless, the driver unmoved. 
The people that already sat in it were jammed into 
corners ; all that could be seated wedged themselves 
in, their feet in heaped straw ; others stood ; the door 
was shut and the musty wagon rolled off. Zoe had 
been quite unable to get near the door ; she sniffed 
the air of the omnibus philosophically, finding in its 
unsavouriness a good reason for preferring to walk. 
A voice accosted her as she hesitated. 


Zo'e the Dancer 69 

“ Which way do you go ? ” 

Zoe paused, turned, saw a very broad girl under 
an umbrella. Her face Zoe could not see ; her 
tone had been kind ; Zoe answered civilly “ North- 
ward.” 

“ So do I,” said the stranger, “ let’s share my um- 
brella.” They splashed amicably off in its shelter, 
Zoe expressing her thanks to the short stout damsel 
at her side. The girl moved fast ; she had the brisk 
walk of her townswomen, a pleasant thing to see : 
short quick steps, each attended by a slight tilt, a dis- 
placement of the hips, the body all the while held 
i imply erect. Such a gait becomes ludicrous when a 
lanky or angular lady assumes it, but with youth and 
the perfection of buxomness, it is a good thing to behold. 
The present exponent of this walk performed admirably ; 
she held her skirts with one hand and her umbrella 
with the other. At last Zoe gained temporary possession 
of the umbrella, then the owner carried it awhile, and 
so on in the greatest good fellowship possible. Zoe 
forgot the chill of the pavement and the discomfort 
of wet skirts ; the rain poured with a steady rumble ; 
other wa5darers groaned at rheumatic twinges or screwed 
their faces into an expression of angry resignation. 
Zoe and her comrade went fast but found time, some- 
what breathlessly, to chatter ; their bright voices 
drowned the noise of the rain. There was a tone of 
laughing familiarity in the stranger’s voice ; she 
appeared to be highly amused. 

“ Why,” Zoe cried, remembering her bulk, “I do 
believe it’s Lalage.” 

The amazing discovery led to the abasement of the 


70 Zoe the Dancer 

umbrella ; in tbe dismal rain the new-found old friend 
embraced and kissed ber Zoe. 

“ I recognised you at once, you funny little willow- 
tree,” sbe declared. “ Fancy your not knowing 
me ! ’ 

Tbe umbrella restored to its sheltering beigbt, they 
walked all tbe faster, very much like an I and an 0 
out together (and only requiring tbe You to perfect 
it). Zoe led tbe way very joyously to her palace at 
Madame Plisse’s, visiting on tbe way a pastry-cook’s. 
Her thin purse was fortunately equal to tbe demands 
on it; macaroons and fondants, materials for a feast 
extraordinary, were invested in. As they stood in tbe 
shop, tbe two girls faced each other smilingly. Lalage 
indeed stood there, stout as ever, placid as ever, beaming 
on ber beloved Zoe. Less than six months earlier these 
two bad been fond friends, Zoe could have wept for joy 
to see ber massive darling again. They cbmbed up to 
Zoe’s room, goody-laden ; seated enlaced on tbe lumpy 
bed, bow much they bad to tell ! Lalage’s tale was 
short, Zoe’s also ; they contrived to talk for three solid 
hours about their adventures. 

Lalage lived no longer at home ; as months bad passed 
and no rich suitors bad pleaded for ber band, sbe bad 
come to tbe conclusion that sbe didn’t care about being 
cooped up over the shop. To tbe horror of ber mother, 
sbe bad applied for and obtained a situation as young 
lady in a shop. Bulky middle-aged dames sat in admira- 
tion before ber enormous form as sbe paraded in ample 
and magnificent robes tbe floor of tbe showroom. Other 
maidens, slight, not so slight, and not at all slight, 
performed with ber ; Lalage filled, very abundantly, 


Zoe the Dancer 


71 


a long-felt want. If tlie less bulky ladies of tbe town 
might see their prospective purchases creditably worn 
in the milliner’s pageant, why not the stouter ones ? 
Lalage’s handsome young face, fresh coloured and 
without wrinkles, assorted well with the sober 
costumes she wore. That probably added chic to 
the purchase. In being pretty and well-coifEed, 
in having an enormous share of embonpoint, and 
two snow-white hands, she filled the post she was 
assigned. 

In the home Madame Cari-PMe comforted Bertrand, 
a great deal less afflicted than in the days we knew him. 
The father longed to have his great girl at home ; the 
mother frowned him into silence. This parade, this 
constant peacocking was, to Madame Cari-PMe’s mind, 
absolutely wrong. It destroyed a girl’s modesty, made 
her cheap, gave her no end of conceit, and might lead 
Heaven knows where. You will remember that she 
approved of Zoe’s sitting, with her hair down, 
in Joseph’s window. So Lalage took her bulky 
beauty to rooms, and twice weekly called on her 
disapproving mother. As with Zoe, freedom meant 
to her entire loneliness of purpose. Cari-PMe 
father adored his monstrous daughter for an in- 
dependence which her mother had long since annihil- 
ated in himself. 

Zoe told her adventures, and they parted with kisses. 
Excitement kept our young lady awake for quite an 
hour. She had carelessly forgotten to ask for Lalage’s 
address. The next evening took her in quest of the 
damsel, through a dreadful storm of rain, to the comer 
where they had met. Naturally she saw her no more. 


72 


Zoe the Dancer 


She went back to her room, soaked through, and had 
to slip out of her clothes. Vainly she hunted for a pair 
of stockings. One pair was at the wash, another she 
found unmended, she boasted no more. She prepared 
to darn the worn holes, meanwhile her ankles grew like 
ice ; the straw-coloured tights of her late performance 
were better than nothing, she locked her door, dis- 
robed, put them on and settled to her darning. She 
had scarcely put needle to work when Madame Phsse 
knocked. Agitated beyond coherency, she yet managed 
to convey to Zoe’s understanding that her dear, dear 
old friend was took bad in the oh ! cells, and that 
friendship bade her go thither. If Miss would be 
so very good, just to keep an eye on the kitchen 
fire 

“ GeUs ? ” said Zoe, her thought monasterial. 

“ Police cells,” she was pantingly informed. “ My 
dear old friend Peggy sometimes, I wouldn’t say it for 
worlds, my dear, but she does, a leetle — you know.” 
Which elucidating sentence was accompanied by a 
tapping of Madame Plisse’s finger-nails on Zoe’s water 
bottle. 

“ Does she ? ” said Zoe,^ greatly at a loss. “ Well, 
I’ll bring my work down.” 

In her dressing-gown she followed her landlady below, 
locked the street door as she was bidden, tucked herself 
cosily into the chair before the fire, and finished her 
sewing. Her experience of fires was nil : this one had 
an open front which shed the heat benignly. Zoe 
tried to make toast, with no success, but she ate her 
bread lukewarm and somewhat smoky with all possible 
gusto. Her supper over, she dozed awhile, but speedily 


Zoe the Dancer 73 

awoke. A desire to dance possessed her : the tights 
recalled her triumph in the convent. Making sure that 
the curtain was well drawn over the window, she pushed 
aside the table and began to skip aimlessly about. 
Presently she cast off the dressing-gown and set to, 
earnestly. For want of music, she hummed and 
whistled all the joyiul airs she could remember. Verdi, 
Haydn, Offenbach, Beethoven, Chopin, all gave their 
mite ; cheerful solfa airs served her, hymns jerkily 
whistled were of use. To all the tunes she knew, she 
trod her tripping measures, pirouetted, skipped, and 
chasseed. What an acquisition had a tambourine been, 
to hold at arm’s length and melodiously kick ! The 
fire spluttered at each replenishing ; she skipped to the 
wood-box, twinkled up to the fire, threw on the wood, 
and bowed herself out to the middle of the floor. Un- 
canny enough she looked in the light of the burning 
logs; she had economically extinguished the lamp. 
From the waist downwards she wore the yellow tights, 
upwards a white cotton bodice, perfectly plain ; her arms 
were bare, her neck also. She unbraided Joseph’s 
handiwork and shook the heavy silken mass about her 
shoulders. The hair swung widely; as she pirouetted 
it stood out from her head in a horizontal line ; she 
whirled again and again until she felt dizzy. It was 
delicious to feel the soft hair fall on her shoulders. 
She sank at last, thoroughly wearied and content before 
the fire. To keep herself from going right off to sleep, 
she assumed as uncomfortable a position as she could 
without dislocation, and promptly slumbered. The 
good Samaritan and her soberly contrite companion 
had to knock twice before Zoe let them in ; the minx 


74 Zoe the Dancer 

had heard the first knock, but stayed to coax the fire 
to life. 

She went up to bed, yawning cavernously on every 
step of the stairs, wriggled out of the tights, and, in 
spite of the coldness of the sheets, was sound asleep in 
thirty-five seconds. 


Chapter VI 


brings Zoe by devious Ways to the Back-door of 
Fame 


I F we seek eminence we must be content to be 
traduced and hated. Should our enemies be 
all of envy, we may well be glad. Zoe found she 
was not to get off with one display of temper ; 
Joseph’s fiancee might not return, but she was not, it 
appeared, the only infuriate person. Before a week 
was over Zoe observed another scowling face directed 
at her. Phanie, the work-woman at the shop, 
always churlish, had become distinctly uncivil ; 
she vouchsafed no answer to Zoe’s “ good-day,” 
looked menacingly at her when the girl suddenly 
glanced up. 

“ Everybody frowns at me now,” she said to Joseph, 
plaintively. 

“ Another enemy. Miss ? ” 

“ Stephanie.” 

“ She has,” he said slowly, “ some wrong ideas. She 
sulks at me, also.” 

JSTor was the train of frowns once started to stop there. 
Phanie returned from market in company with a young 
woman, who stood across the road and stared darkly 
at Zoe. 

“ I have more enemies,” our damsel said. 

“ Who, now, I wonder ? ” asked Joseph. 

“ That black girl over the road.” 


76 


76 


Zo'e the Dancer 


Joseph brushed steadily on. “ That is Phanie’s 
daughter,” he said calmly. 

Phanie’s daughter came no nearer than the other side 
of the road. To that station she returned day after 
day, staring blackly at Zoe, then going her way. Phanie 
left her there, entering with the marketing, but without 
a word to Zoe. 

Lalage came past in the dinner hour and gazed 
admiringly at her friend. The evenings often brought 
them together, either in Zoe’s narrow room or Lalage’s 
airy garret. Lalage was a revelation to Zoe, as lively 
as herself when she wished, and infinitely more practical. 
They made a gay pair, chattering nonsense (none of it 
love, so please you !) and talking business. 

“ How you’ve changed ! ” Zoe would cry. 

“ So have you,” Lalage said. “ We weren’t ourselves 
in that prison. How could we be ? It seems so long 
ago.” 

Zoe asked casually after Bertrand. 

“ I know,” said Lalage ; “ some I heard from mother 
and some I guessed. He’s very disappointed, you 
know, Zoe. But we hope he’U bear up. He takes his 
beer again, mother tells me.” 

“ I’m glad of that,” interjected his once-beloved. 

“ And I daresay he’ll take a pride in having clean 
collars on soon,” his sister hoped. “ I’d have liked you 
for a sister, Zoe.” 

“ Thank you, dearest ; if I’d a brother ” 

“Too late,” Lalage rosily implied, “ I’ve got a young 
man.” 

It may be that that had changed her so much ; kind 
and loving she had ever been, now she lavished the 


Zoe the Dancer 


77 


greatest affection on her friend. She had room for all 
love in her large heart; Zoe was at peace with her. 
She was like a mother to the kinless girl. A friend, 
to our lonely miss, was a great acquisition. For all 
her busy life and work, she needed, perhaps because of 
it, the relaxation of friendship after her day’s toil. 

The darkest days of winter were past ; more people 
trod the dry streets and stood longer at the shop- 
window. What sunshine crept into the side street was 
captured by Zoe’s sunny hair ; it shone and glowed 
afar. But if more people came, they did not replace 
the original gapers. Zoe still observed her scowling 
watcher, Phafiie’s daughter, across the road, some- 
times saw the future Mrs Joseph with nose a-tilt in the 
crowd. Joseph himself renewed, after long lapse, the 
subject of Phanie’s daughter. She had been, he re- 
marked, a servant in the house with her mother, but 
Martha, finding her unsuited to the work (Martha was 
very particular, he parenthesed), had dismissed her. 
The explanation was insufficient to account for the 
angry scowl Zoe- wards. 

She saw the young woman in the boulevard on her 
way home and tried to catch her up, following her 
through a maze of streets and passages until she realised 
that the girl was trying either to decoy her away for 
some unguessed purpose or to escape her. She gave 
up the chase and tried to find her way back to the main 
street or some road she knew. All the landmarks were 
strange to her; she walked in absolute ignorance of 
her whereabouts ; but recollecting that the sunset had 
been behind her, she faced it to return. The principle 
was sound, but the extraordinary irregularity and 


78 


Zoe the Dancer 


crookedness of the streets made it impracticable. There 
were few passers-by, and such as she saw inspired no 
confidence ; no shops, where she might ask her road. 
The polychrome sky was still bright as day, but the roads, 
dingy and ill-built for light at the best, were very dark. 
From the back of a large building a man issued, hatless 
and in shirt sleeves : he pinned a paper on a board by 
the door, and was going in, when Zoe accosted him. 

“ Any turning to the left,” he told her, “ will lead you 
into the main street. This is the back of the Oriental.” 

“ Oriental what ? ” thought Zoe, when he had gone 
in. “ Not theatre, surely ? Some dingy second-rate 
hotel, I suppose.” The paper on the notice-board, under 
an oil lamp, resolved her doubt. The ugly barrack 
was the theatre ; the document announced that the 
management had vacancies for a few ballet girls, and 
that dancers might apply at a certain date ; Zoe noted 
the hour and every direction and took the first turning 
to the left. The announcement had no meaning for 
her until those unlucky tights showed themselves neatly 
wrapped in the corner of her box. They recalled her 
triumph, her agihty, and the management’s need. 
Zoe stared, whistled, considered. 

“ I will go,” she said to her Lalage, after a long 
rigmarole. “ And I’ll dance to the management.” 

“ Will you ? Well, I’m sure you’ll do it beautifully, 
Zozo, my dear,” said Lalage, in fond admiration. 
“ What will you wear ? I’ve got a gauze dress I once 
wore, I’d make it over for you.” 

“ I’ve got my — ^tights.” 

“ Your — oh, Zoe ! ” 

“ And my trunks,” Zoe pinkly continued. 


Zoe the Dancer 


79 


“ You’re not to go,” said Lalage, lier placidity over- 
whelmed. “ It’s not the thing.” 

“ I shall go.” 

“ You shan’t, you yellow-wigged doll,” said Lalage, 
with contempt. I’ll see that you don’t. Your mop 
will fetch all the men you want, my dear. I’ll find 
you a nice fellow, Zozo.” 

Zoe blushed redder than ever. “ I don’t want a 
fellow, thank you, Lalage,” said she, rather coldly. 

“ Don’t what ? Don’t want to get married ? ” 

“ Not much,” Zoe admitted. “ I’d rather be famous.” 

“ Gracious ! You’ll be famous if you waggle your 
legs in pubhc, will you ? H’m. I’ve heard the word 
lengthened for dancers before now. Go, if you like. 
I don’t care. Walk all over the town in your yellow 
tights if you like,” she sighed fully, “ but don’t say you 
don’t want to get married. After all, ballet girls have 
married titles before now.” 

This veridical information closed the discussion. 
Zoe decided not to go. 


Chapter VII 

moves to the sound of Fife and Tabor 


T he black-a- vised damsel wliom Zoe had in 
vain pursued had not fled for all- time 
from our Miss’s circuit. She and her 
surly mother lay in wait for our girl and 
stopped her decisively. The elder woman plunged 
without greeting into a story of Joseph’s perfidy ; the 
girl stood silent and abashed. Zoe listened amazed. 
For a moment the words that feU from the woman’s 
lips held no meaning for her. The tale was a painful 
surprise ; the manner of telhng it gross in the extreme. 
Newly come from the respectful touch of Joseph’s 
hands, she doubted, heard, made no reply ; with an 
inclination of the head, but no word, she passed on. 
She strove to put from her memory the indecencies of 
Phanie’s narration. The effort succeeded. The sanity 
of her pure mind rejected what was harmful, she was 
able to review the situation in this new hght without 
nausea. 

The matter stood at this ; her employer was a pro- 
fligate, his victim, Phanie’s girl. The mother and 
daughter, believing, or pretending to believe, that Zoe 
had supplanted her in Joseph’s affection, told this tale 
in the hope that she would give him uf. If not the 
matter could be settled easily by a little of Miss Caxe’s 
money ; nothing could be simpler. 

Joseph had been to Zoe a kind and just employer, 


Zoe the Dancer 


81 


who paid her fairly, treated her honourably and fed her 
royally. When he spoke, he was familiar as a brother 
might be. A few weeks of employment with him had 
established them on a footing of great good fellowship ; 
by this time, they were sound friends. They shared, 
with Martha, sundry family jokes, witless enough, 
but evoking a hearty laugh from all three. Joseph was 
as genial and generous as his sister : he had, it is true, 
a terrible habit of swearing at the two juniors (but not 
worse than our army in Flanders) ; Zoe and Martha 
heard him with admiration and awe on the rare occasions 
when he performed coram populo. Zoe dared to tease 
him about his failings ; he retorted with well-crusted 
traditions about the English; the two waged international 
war at dinner-time, all in the highest good humour. 
Martha displayed an amazing talent for tergiversation, 
siding with one or the other at every word. 

Phanie’s words gave Zoe pause ; she believed wholly 
in herself and from that circumstance derived much 
courage. She accepted the woman’s accusation with 
an open mind, neither condoning nor condemning. 
She decided half heartedly that his misdemeanor con- 
cerned her as little as the young woman’s frailty ; but 
she believed Joseph to be a black sheep. She wronged 
him ; he was as respectful to all womankind as he 
had shown himself to her. Like Zoe, he was faithful 
to himself, and no less pure than she. The partner 
of the young woman’s disgrace was not our barber. 

Zoe sighed for very amazement that there could 
exist so much vice in the world. If the convent training 
had kept the pupils childish in many things, it had not 
made them narrow-minded. Sister Superior had never 


82 


Zo 'e the Dancer - 


forgotten that the safest way to avoid sin is to recognise 
it early. Zoe knew that innocence itself, if alone, will 
not preserve a soul from evil. She was sad to think 
sin was so near to her, but not fearful of its proximity. 
With some disgust she contemplated her future brushings 
by the accused hairdresser. 

“ I’ll go to the management,” she cried aloud, when 
she got into her own room. Those tights, tidily folded 
in the trunk, had obtruded again. “ I xoill go,” said 
miss, “ and dance myself away from Joseph.” 

And go she straightway did. Her bundle under her 
arm, her feet twinkling to get there in time, she dived 
into a side street, managed to find the funereal barrack 
and went in. The place smelled of paint and dust in 
equal proportions. Zoe was sent to a door. 

At her knock, a young man opened, stared, laughed 
and pointed out the manager. A gorgeously attired 
lady, sitting on the table by his side, looked up, stared 
as rudely as the young man and drew her companion’s 
attention with nudge and giggle to the newcomer. 
Zoe bowed as he turned round : he returned the salute 
civilly by raising his hat. She crossed the room in 
answer to a gesture to join a group of girls, each with her 
parcel or bag. An inner room was made ready for them, 
they trooped in, our young lady at their heels, to find 
themselves in an ill-lit bare apartment, whose only 
furniture was a long glass on the wall and a bench all 
the way round. The girls began to undo their parcels ; 
bonnets, shawls and skirts were shed, boots drawn off, 
hair rearranged. 

A woman of enormous girth and no beauty, unless 
that very breadth beheld one, presided, goddesslike, 


Zo'e the Dancer 83 

over this Nirvana ; she walked to and fro encouraging 
the girls and helping them to dress. Considering her 
size, she was wonderfully deft ; her podgy hands 
fluttered over frill or lace to its obvious gain : a tweak 
here and a pat there shaped the coryfhees^ for the most 
part very dirty ones, in readiness. She was not new 
to the task of setting dresses to rights. She addressed 
Zoe by name ; in her our young lady recognised Madame 
Plisse’s bibulous friend who had spent several hours 
lately in a nucleolar condition. 

The girl felt appalled at her own temerity in coming ; 
it needed cheering words in plenty from the dresser to 
make her follow the others back to the larger room. 
She had taken the pins from her hair ; its silky smooth- 
ness needed no brushing, she ran her hands over it and 
it was perfect. She drew about her her large shawl, 
and, yellow tipped by hair and heelless shoes, went 
after the troop into the next room. The dancers were 
grouped again in one corner, looking very cowed ; 
the audience consisted of four persons : the manager, 
the lady, on the table by him, the pianist and the stout 
basso-profondo. There was no waste of time. The 
manager was impatient to get the affair finished. He 
called to one girl after another. 

‘‘ You with the blue bows hurry up ! ” “ Now then, 

black bodice, shuffle along ! ” Every girl so adjured 
sidled out of her cloak, handed a piece of music or 
whispered the name of some popular air to the ugly 
young man at the piano ; he played nonchalantly, as 
if by clock-work. The manager assumed a stare. As 
each girl was called out she danced in the middle of the 
room, exactly in front of him. Some one or two he 


84 Zoe the Dancer 

allowed to dance for several minutes, recalling their 
steps brusquely and without deference ; others he 
dismissed at the first kick. No comment was made, as 
the cory'phees thumped singly about. The stout singer 
and the ofi-hand pianist began to stare as fixedly as 
their manager. The young lady at the table giggled 
at the dancers, or sniffed, all for the manager’s edifica- 
tion. He paid no manner of attention, writing down 
the names of the girls he favoured and recalling them 
from his list, “ Green garters — Sophie Arder ? Eight. 
Get off now. Black bodice — Jeanne Toquet — well, 
Tiquet, Tiquet ; move along, there, Tiquet ! Don’t 
go to sleep, Tiquet ! ” Zoe crept farther into her comer, 
the last girl was called out, danced, gave her name with 
a tossing chin and went back. The manager hurried 
on, nearing the end. “You with the yellow feet. 
Out you come. Now then 1 ” 

Zoe felt that she would rather die than uncover herself 
before these people. The manager tapped his foot ; 
the pianist yawned, holding out his hand. 

“ I’ve got no music,” she said timidly. 

“ What shall I play ? ” asked he. Zoe gazed around 
in fear — every one was staring at her ; whispers were 
heard. 

“ Go on, ducky,” said the dresser from the inner 
doorway. 

“ I whistle,” she said, and, slipping out of her shawl, 
burst simultaneously into her sweet flute-like note and 
wild dance. Not many girls could whistle in those days ; 
the habit was considered masculine. Whistling was 
“ not nice,” and for that reason eschewed. We know 
how much Miss Caxe had cared for the representations 


Zoe the Dancer 85 


of her teachers ; they had laid an embargo on the art ; 
she had promptly practised it, together with the “ steps ” 
they did not allow at the dancing classes. And very 
clearly and melodiously she whistled, expending no 
force, not screwing her face into a mass of convergent 
wrinkles, but settling her lips to a small 0 and lengthen- 
ing her cheeks adorably. 

She showered charm on her audience, as she stepped 
in growing confidence to her own odd music. Every 
possible turn did she exploit, pirouetted every trill until 
her hair stood out like an aureole. Among the other 
maidens, short and buxom, she had the air of an 
overgrown boy. They had thumped the floor, swooped 
and sunk and kicked in the real conventional manner ; 
our damsel skipped, swayed and even leapt about, in 
her mad gyrations. She finished her medley of tune 
and her dance to a faint murmur from the girls in the 
corner. The pug-faced young man whistled himself 
in amazement. 

“ Name ? ” said the manager. 

“ Zoe,” she said, “ Zoe Caxe,” and could have bitten 
out her tongue the minute after. 

“ Where do you come from ? ” he asked curiously ; and 
as she was dumb, went on, “ You’ve never learnt to 
dance, you know.” 

“ No, sir,” said she, with a desire to cry. 

“ Well, come along,” he went on ; “ come along, 
don’t keep us all day. Here, Pian-piano, bawl for the 
others, will you ? Now then, do it again.” 

As she stepped to the centre of the room, she saw that 
the young lady by the manager had left off laughing, 
and, on the contrary, frowned most blackly. When Zoe 


86 


Zoe the Dancer 


noticed this, she was reminded of the look of Joseph’s 
lady. This then was she, the scornful, angry future 
proprietress of the hairdressing establishment. Scowling, 
Zoe had always seen her, the cast underlined, as it 
were, by the force of her expression ; the squint showed 
less over a smile. 

Zoo piped her melody afresh, greatly uplifted. I am 
there, she thought in French, oh, I am there. Through 
the open door, Pian-piano reappeared, half a dozen 
people after him. They slid in along by the walls to 
make room for more. Zoe danced for sheer joy — if she 
had been nervous, she had quite forgotten it now ; she 
whirled in an aureole of her hair and whistled herself 
breathless. There was clapping when she had done. 
Shawled again, she swept them her most regal courtesy, 
and received a variety of formal bows in return. One 
of the newcomers, a handsome woman, introducing 
herself as Madame Campobossi, took her hand, com- 
plimented her, made her feel at ease. The whole troop 
of girls went off to resume their walking dresses, Zoe 
with them. As they passed through the larger room 
again some were given slips of paper, others dismissed 
without a look or word. Zoe was bidden wait till the 
end. 

“ Well, Miss Caxe,” the manager said, when the 
room was clear of the girls, “ do you want to learn 
dancing? because if you do, we’ll teach you. Signor 
Campobossi will teach you, for you don’t know how.” 

“ I want to dance,” said Zoe. 

“ All right. Come round after the show to-night, and 
we’ll talk further. Here’s paper. That’ll get you in. 
Don’t forget.” 


Zo'ii the Dancer 87 


The lady of the squint had drawn away in the mean- 
time, frowning at the fat dresser, with whom she now 
shared the doorway. As Zoe came towards the door, 
she swept her full draperies away, tripping to some 
measure. 

“ It’s a fair treat to see you hop, ducky ! ” cried the 
fat dresser with meaning, to Zoe. 

“ Get out of here, you drunken old Peggy ! ” shouted 
the modish lady, stopping in a graceful twirl at the piano. 

“ Think you can dance ? ” said Peggy. “ Calves ! ” 


Chapter VIII 

takes us into a lady’s confidence and shows how 
she triumphs over material objects 

T he damsel, whose strabismus rendered 
imperfect the catalogue of her charms, 
had long been the leading dancer of the 
theatre ; the hssomeness of her early years 
of triumph had, notwithstanding her nightly activity, 
become rather merged in accretions of the adipose. 
While her energy had not been lessened by this growth, 
her charm, to the mind of the Belgian, had kept pace 
with the increase of tissue, and she had retained her 
place as head of the ballet on the boards of the Oriental 
Theatre without question. 

The manager had been, in earher days, thrall to this 
beauty ; her defective vision had in no wise interfered 
with his passion : some ladies who saw straighter yet 
walked more crookedly. Every evening for five years 
had she hopped and bounced in fleshings and rufiies 
before the admiring men of the town. 

Long custom had endeared her to their hearts and 
eyes ; but it must be acknowledged that Peggy’s taunt 
had weight. That portion of the nether limb the dresser 
had so contemptuously named was in Miss Tauzy’s 
case hyperdeveloped, so much so that she could no 
longer clap her heels together as no doubt, ladies, you 
still can do. There can be, to the unbiassed mind, no 


Zo'e the Dancer 


89 


disgrace in this, but Peggy meant perhaps to convey 
in her gruff -voiced ejaculation that however credit- 
able and charming such muscular development 
may be, it ill befits a lady to flaunt it in public. The 
Terpsichorean art is conventionally restricted to 
practice by the sylph-like ; Peggy held the conventional 
view. 

Joseph, our Joseph, was, as we very well know, an 
artist. Beauty was his joy ; at the theatre he might 
gaze unperturbed. Thither, toil-worn, he was apt to 
stroll, to taste the delights of aristocratic life by assuming 
evening dress and elbowing gilded youth in the stalls. 
Many were the timid fairs of the ballet he had admired 
from afar ; the Tauzy — being a little less timid — had 
inspired him to closer admiration. He admired, un- 
rebuked, she was considered a conquest ; she knew he 
was one. Loudly might her wealthier satellites decry 
the hairdresser ; he was her hope for middle-age. 
Dancing is all very well, but a substantial shop is, as 
one gets on (or perhaps we should say off)^ far better. 
Lissomeness, we say, she somewhat lacked ; not so 
practical views. Joseph may have lingered for a 
moment in the hazy glamour of Love’s young dreams ; 
it dazzled but never blinded him ; business was the 
light by which both of these worthy people read their 
destiny. 

Things had come to a pass indeed with Miss Tauzy. 
A yellow-headed girl no thicker than your calf had 
danced in a new-fangled fashion, and Miss Tauzy had 
straightway given notice. What else could a lady do ? 
And when the girl is the very one who has made trouble 


90 


Zoe the Dancer 


between you and your adorer ! It was to be one of Miss 
Tauzy’s positively last appearances at tbe Oriental (they 
were to go on for a month) ; the all-important fact 
was hurriedly billed and itinerant hoardings with a 
man sandwiched between sent out to inform the 
populace. 

Zoo handed over her ticket and in return was admitted 
to celestial arcana. The Oriental was really a music- 
hall, but she knew no difference. Cloaked and veiled 
she slipped into her seat, excitement shaking her. It 
was the first time she had ever been inside a theatre, 
and the beauty of its architecture and decoration 
mystified her beyond words. She believed, poor dear 
goose, that the mouldings were all pure metal, and 
meditated examining them closer on a more convenient 
occasion. 

The orchestra twanged and scraped, shapely legs 
thumped and pointed. Humph, thought Zoe, I can 
do better than that. A tender young man sang of 
the joys of love. Another, less tender, tied himself 
into a human knot and undid himself with so much 
celerity and evident enjoyment that he had the air of pre- 
ferring a position with his head between his legs and his 
arms holding a newspaper where he couldn’t read it. 
Campobossi, basso profondo, and husband to the woman 
who had been kind to Zoe in the dance-room, bawled 
airs from Mozart. A young lady sang comic songs, 
exchanging badinage with the boys in the gallery 
between verses. On the whole, Zoe thought the ex- 
hibition bordering on the vulgar. She was right ; the 
habitues of the theatres did not demand refinement, 


Zoe the Dancer 


91 


the management catered for its public with nicety. 
There were moments when Zoe blushed thoroughly ; 
oftener she was merely disgusted. Wit would have 
failed before that audience ; the frequenters of the 
stalls were no more intellectual in reality than the 
roaring enthusiasts of the pit. Everything was thor- 
oughly applauded. The evening passed pleasantly 
enough, except for the interruptions of a small boy, 
who had been given his door-money on the express 
condition, which he observed, that he should shout 
“ Calves ! ” The shot told ; a furious squint was 
levelled at him ; man, proverbially fickle, laughed up- 
roariously, applauding the child’s shrill pipe rather 
than the departing sylph. It was generally believed 
that Peggy had engineered this feat, but the pug- 
faced pianist, Pian-piano, knew far more about it. 
In former days he had sued for, and been refused. Miss 
Tauzy’s favours. He thought he had at last found a 
means of revenging this slight. 

Peggy awaited Zoe when at the close of the 
performance she stepped round to the manager’s 
office. 

“ Let a poor old woman be your dresser, ducky,” 
she implored. 

“ You shall,” Zoe gaily promised. 

The manager had a contract drawn up. Zoe read it 
carefully twice ; it bound her to the Oriental for a 
year. She bared her hand and signed with a flourish. 
The manager signed also, she had become their 
employee. 

She declined, civilly, the offer of refreshment and 


92 


Zoe the Dancer 


escort. She was understood to mean, for always. Her 
modest manner and her confidence in herself assured her 
safety. She was set on a plane apart from the other 
dancers. From one only among all the men connected 
with the theatre did Zoe receive any offence, during the 
whole of her sojourn among them. They were as de- 
ferential to her modesty as Sister Superior herself. 
With this solitary exception, she remained unassailed 
and respected by all. She trusted herself so thoroughly 
that she dared to trust them implicitly, and from that 
evening, when she put back her veil and signed above 
the manager’s greasy finger-marks, she went without 
fear. 

An altercation was heard without, voices feminine 
in increasing volume filtered through the door. Miss 
Tauzy and Peggy argued, the latter opposing the former 
lady’s entrance. 

“ Go away, Tauzy mia,” she was bidden by the 
manager. 

“ You’re in there, are you ? ” cried the offended 
dancer. “ Let me in.” 

“ Come in if you want to,” the manager said in the 
midst of invisible scuffiing. 

“ She’s holding the handle,” Miss Tauzy shouted. 

“ She says she’ll tear her hair out if she can get at 
her,” Peggy bawled. 

“ Go away, you silly duffer,” said the manager. 

“ What did you say ? ” sibillated the keyhole. 

“ Silly duffer was what he said,” triumphed Peggy. 
“ Silly duffer ! Calves ! ” 

The sound of panting was succeeded by an appall- 


Zoe the Dancer 93 

ing crasli, and, as though in illustration of this 
last cry, through the lower panel of the door, so 
courageously defended by Peggy, came one of the 
feet of Miss Tauzy, surmounted by the calf of 
contention. 


Chapter IX 

presents Miss Gaxe arriving^ in the French sense, in 
trunks and hose 


A las I the public display of the Terpsichorean 
art is not attained in a day, as our Miss 
speedily found. Joseph, her employer, 
had to be approached ; she went straight 
to the point with him. He heard her in silence, staring 
at her. 

“ I know,” he said, when she had failed to explain. 

“ Know ? ” the minx repeated. “ Oh, of course,” she 
murmured, remembering, with vivid blushes the little 
boy’s cry. 

Aunt’s funny old friend, you know,” Joseph offered 
vaguely. 

« Peggy?” 

“ She’s a dresser, dresses the Ballet. Saw you dance, 
you recollect,” he went on, baldly. 

“ Yes,” said Zoc. A silence fell. 

Do as you think best,” he took up at last, with a 
sigh. “ In a month’s time ? ” 

“ Saturday,” Zoe suggested. 

He agreed, and set to brush her as deftly as ever ; 
but though the subject was not again broached, she 
knew that he was angry. ISTo word was said at the 
dinner hour to Martha. It was borne in upon Zoe, both 
during the day, and when she talked the matter over 

94 


Zoe the Dancefr 


95 


with the farther-sighted Lalage, that she had behaved 
shabbily to Joseph the accused. She did not know how 
to make amends. Saturday came, and she went away 
without a word to the unconscious Martha, leaving it 
to Joseph to wound that kind creature. She made, as 
you have rightly supposed, a dreadful out-cry ; and the 
shop was very desolate in its old regime : soap and 
sponges in the window, but no fair-haired model to 
admire. The midday crowd particularly felt the loss ; 
it was suggested by one devout student (of theology), 
on Tuesday, that they should pick up the pavement and 
wreck the shop. Another (medicine), with a three 
months’ moustache — already visible in certain lights — 
actually entered one of the compartments and inter- 
viewed the young man presiding, issuing thence after 
a genuine but not very marked sacrifice to inform his 
companions that she had definitely gone. Joseph 
received several offers to have his eye blackened, but 
closed with none. 

At rehearsal, Zoe had little time to think of her 
action, and to feel the shame she should have felt, but 
during the mornings, when she was free, she suffered 
some sharp pricks in her conscience. She realised that 
she had shown no consideration, and that, however bad 
Joseph might be, Martha at any rate deserved better 
at her hands. 

“ I want Mr J oseph,” was all she could say, 
when she summoned up enough courage to go to the 
shop. 

He was brought ; he was kind, but very formal ; 
Martha came out and stared unfeelingly. “Put on 


96 


Zoe the Dancer 


your hat and come out,” Zoe cried in desperation to 
him. In out-door attire he was, save for his hair, quite 
the gentleman. 

Zoe found speech easier with him alone. “ When 
are you going to be married ? ” she asked him 
bluntly. 

“ In Autumn,” he informed her. 

“ May I come back for the mornings till then ? ” she 
begged. "‘For I am not going to come out until 

she .” The knowledge that she should come out 

when Miss Tauzy should, as it were, go in, was before 
them both, but they did not mention it. He was 
delighted, and in the busy street wrung her hand most 
fondly. The pair returned, in gay disorder, to Martha. 
Zoe was formally reinstated over the midday meal, and 
she tripped away to the theatre for her practice with a 
light heart and the consciousness of doing what was 
right for once. 

For the first time in her life she began to study with 
assiduity, going every afternoon to rehearsal. The 
rest the passive occupation of the morning gave her was 
sorely needed. The praises that once-more-happy 
students and loungers gave her through the window 
was like balm to her after the horrors of the blame 
her ignorance of dancing called down on her head in 
the afternoons. 

She was to be a boy in the Ballet. Poetry was the 
forte of the manager, even as the training of dancers 
was the strong point of his basso-profondo. That 
corpulent Italian, his nether limbs stretched in dark 
blue tights, led the bevy of girls about the practice 


Zo'e the Dancer 97 

room, his insteps and ankles as flexible as those of any 
there. The manager dropped in at intervals to shout 
directions from afar, like a referee ; the pug-faced 
young man played on or stopped as if he had been 
wound up ; he stared about the room as Zoe moved, 
enough to disconcert her seriously. 

The manager, as we have divulged to you, was a 
poet. He invented the Ballet himself, even to its title, 

THE HONEY BOY, 

and we must tell you that he had an idea that bees are 
as yellow as their produce. But that apart, the notion 
was really very pretty. After an elaborate series of 
kicks and thumpings from the rounded legs of the 
corps, Zoe was to whirl in, with her hair down, dance 
awhile, and then trip from flower to flower like a bee, 
sipping a kiss from each one. There were to be roses 
and lilies alternately, with green legs and white or 
red tops, their heads crowned with velvet flowers of 
huge size. At practice the beauty of the conception 
did not appear, for the flowers had on their practice 
skirts, very smutty ones, and some of them were dirty 
round their necks. Moreover, to any but a poet’s eye, 
the stalks of the wayward blossoms (who were to sway 
to and fro while the Honey Boy danced about them) 
would have looked like excessively stout legs, particu- 
larly when their presence was emphasised by grass-green 
hose. But we who say these things are cavillers, and 
no poets. Campobossi thought, with his manager, that 
it was lovely ; but he didn’t share, at first, the hopes 

G 


98 Zoe the Dancer 


that that good man had of Zoe. “ She’s as thin as an 
Englishman,” he grumbled. 

“ Not she ! English are all splay-footed. Besides, 
listen to her accent ! ” said his manager. 

The robustious singer returned to his Terpsichorean 
tuition somewhat reassured. The Honey-Boy’s thin- 
ness, testified to as Belgian, became a beauty. The 
slightest accent of English in her speech would have 
made Campobossi her life-long enemy. The unconscious 
Briton toiled after him in his steps, too intent on his 
amazing legs and feet to notice his absorption. 

There were afternoons when her limbs seemed made 
of thread, so feeble did she find herself when faced with 
long attitudes — or when after turning her dizzied eyes 
from Campobossi’s muscular legs, which spun and 
darted and bent and disappeared and looked like one or 
twelve as he gyrated, her own felt like two sand-bags, 
over which she had no control. He could walk on his 
toes round the edge of a crown piece, and Zoe, for all 
her youth and elasticity, could scarcely circle a small 
plate. She would follow him slavishly from one end 
of the room to the other, moved to stifled laughter at 
the girlish poise of his huge body, to suppressed tears 
of weariness as her aching toes went their one, two, 
three-ee-ee, four, one, two, three-ee-ee, four. But she 
dared not smile ; his neck was as flexible as his legs ; 
he could turn his face almost round to his back in a 
flash. Nor dared she cry : he stormed at her for her 
sulky expression, or, worse still, sighed and waited 
drumming his fingers until she had done, which she 
speedily had, when she saw the stares that Pian -piano 


Zo’e the Dancer 99 

gave her from his position at the silent instrument. 
She was not allowed her own quaint movements. She 
was forced to go through the practice with the whole 
row of girls, new and old, knowing and green, she one 
of the greenest. But when the general lesson was over, 
and the others were free to go whither they liked 
and to rest their stretched limbs, she was kept at it, 
parading, marching, turning, twisting and standing, 
until she had forgotten the monotony of the shared 
lesson in the corvie of the private one. 

If Campobossi had a fault, and we have discovered 
he had, like a few other people, it was his want of 
command of his tongue, and strangely enough this was 
enheightened by his powerful command of language. 
He had some of the strangest oaths that have ever 
delighted an angry man, and from day to day, as he 
had the training of Miss Caxe in his sole charge, he 
added to them. His wife was hardened to them, but she 
feared for Zoe ; and at first the girl shrank, amazed and 
hurt, from the volley of curses, never directed at her, 
but rather at circumstances or at himself. Soon, she 
grew to like the undercurrent of grumble, lost her 
fear of the grumbler ; then she noticed that the girls 
had ceased to giggle, she had hated them for their spite. 
Next she began to feel that she could trust herself not 
to topple over in the middle of a scena and not to 
groan with pain as she pirouetted. She assumed a 
smile at practice, recognised that her arms and legs 
were her limbs, not she their victim. She grew hardy, 
introducing her skips and wild turns into the regular 
steps ; uutil she had known the dismal routine of the 


100 Zoe the Dancer 


one, two, three-ee-ee, four, these innovations had been 
sternly repressed ; as she grew in proficiency, she was 
allowed her elaborations. 

There came days when Pian-piano shouted “ Bravo ! ” 
Then days when the manager strolling in, clapped. At 
last a day when Campobossi bowed himself away at 
the end of the room and left her to finish her dance 
alone — more, he asked, in return to a question of 
her eyes, that she would be pleased to teach him. She 
knew no more restraint ; the movements which she 
had so painfully acquired now were as natural as 
breathing to her; she could set to them what other 
fancies she had, whatever flutters she chose to invent. 
The Ballet came into serious consideration, Zoe was 
given the centre of the stage ; the dirty practice room 
was left behind, they trod the actual boards where 
they were to shine later. The other artistes stationed 
themselves about the empty theatre, the whole orchestra 
turned up, the manager ran from the stage to the 
auditorium and back again until he had to remove his 
collar for comfort. Miss Tauzy, who had strolled in 
to get off her superior smile, went out in the middle, 
the muscles of her face not having been exercised. 
This was, as the mildest and most modest would have 
felt, a great triumph, and no wonder that the new 
Ballet was billed at once. 

Zoe had the added satisfaction of seeing the little 
name largely written on the theatre placards, which 
she met in odd corners of the town, thrusting their 
bloated letters into the quiet of respectable and non- 
theatre-going streets. 


Zo'e the Dancer 


101 


THE HONEY BOY 
WORLD’S "ZOE" DANCER 
WORLD’S FIRST DANCER 
“ZOE” 

With Corps be Ballet. 

The novelty of the title was to make the town flock 
— though they would have flocked to anything new in 
the way of amusement. “ Honey Boy ? ” they inquired 
of each other, and rejoiced at the final positively last 
appearance of Miss Tauzy. She had a grand farewell 
and received several flesh wounds from the massive 
bouquets that came too straight. She regretted her 
departure, except for the fact that Joseph was a little 
tired of waiting. This great success into which she 
was galvanised at the very end of her career should 
compensate that gentleman for the weariness of his 
patience. 

Fickle Brussels ! Not one of those who had given 
the Tauzy a “send-off” omitted to come the next night 
to shout Zoe in. What did it matter to them whether 
the lady was the first dancer in Europe, or the 
world ? They must be amused of an evening, and 
that they meant to be, whatever the quality of the 
amusement. 

Zoe had now so often danced to the empty house that 
she hated the idea of going on to the stage ; the noise 
of the girls’ steps would not leave her ears when she 
was away from the practice ; she disliked the huge, 
dusty hall with its holland-covered seats. But tripping 
on when the place was crammed to breathlessness with 


102 


Zoe the Dancer 


eager onlookers, she found it not only less formidable 
but exhilarating even. So excited and unsophisticated 
was she, that she did not notice the disappointment 
which overran the crowd. Belgian aesthetes had been 
ready, gloved or bare hands in position, to applaud 
until the place was thick with dust ; at first sight of 
her slim form they let drop their hands, and some 
their lower jaws, and the ovation was deferred sine die. 
What of that? she had expected the silence she got, 
and she would have failed before the enthusiastic 
applause of people who would not have justly known 
why they clapped her. The music was there ; the 
Ballet was there; the convent was behind; life was 
in front of her. She was alone in her content — the 
Ballet had gone on with the idea that this was to be 
the night of their lives ; they visibly sulked ; as for the 
manager’s heart-beats, they would have startled a 
hardened physician for the first five minutes. 

It was gorgeous, she felt, to skip and twirl and 
twist before this gaping, silent crowd. She turned and 
laughed joy at the brawny girls behind her in their 
phalanx ; recovering her senses, she went through the 
dance gaily, freeing herself of all thoughts save the one 
that she was there ; her hair stood out in a line like a 
wheel above her head. The audience had begun, 
certainly to get enthusiastic, slightly, after the first 
sight of that hair ; the first steps of her own inventing 
moved them more ; as she went dn wildly, she dragged 
murmurs of admiration after her ; the speechlessness 
of disapproval deepened in some parts of the hall into 
the silence of intense enjoyment. The delighted on- 


Zo'e the Dancer 


103 


lookers could not see her for her hair, could not see her 
hair for her. It dropped in fine disorder ; she threw 
it back from her face with a vigorous arm and tripped 
from flower to flower, a circle of light following her 
about the stage, the orchestra ceasing for the moment, 
while she kissed ; the action and the complete silence 
broke up the quiet of the enthralled audience. 
Murmurs deepened at the restart of the music, and 
voices joined the busy instruments; some shouts 
arose. Gay acclamations roared above the orchestra ; 
a single voice cleared above all the other noises cried 
that Zoe had forgotten to kiss its owner. “No 
favourites ! ” the cry was taken up. “ I’m a flower, I 
am!” “I shall complain to the manager.” “Do the 
whole garden, Zoe 1 ” “ Be fair, now,” she heard with 

astonishment. She finished her dance as much to the 
time of Pian-piano’s wagging head — he saw her diffi- 
culty — as to the music, for the noise had drowned it, 
even on her side of the footlights. Down she sank, 
until her locks lay like a folded cloak on the floor 
around her, rose, sent a kiss to the whole hall, and 
disappeared. The Ballet thumped themselves out to 
four time, quite content. 

The manager’s heart needed no exhibition of digi- 
talis. He preserved a quiet air that disconcerted 
Miss. “ Very well, very well,” he said, and repeated 
the words and the tone to each member of the Ballet. 
“ Let them roar a little,” was his next remark, sent as 
a message to the orchestra, “until you get your breath.” 
The players rubbed their necks inside their collars and 
dried the mouth-pieces of their instruments. In the 


104 


Zo'e the Dancer 


interval notes began to be brought round, cards were 
handed to Zoe — she was bewildered. The manager 
came to her rescue. “ Oh, burn the lot ! What do 
you say, Amalia ? ” To her he explained that it was a 
way Brussels had, when it was excited ; Amalia asked 
as a favour that no one should come behind yet. She 
went on to speak of the way to treat such notes and 
the people who sent them; Zoe listened airily, until 
she heard her name piped for her recall. The house 
bellowed, and she realised that the sweetness of glory 
is the prerogative of the worshipper. She had had her 
triumph, and the rest was her living to get. But she 
was glad, as also was Campobossi, who had, in her 
first movement, when the house had been so quiet, 
nearly wrung his hands to pieces. She had arrived at 
as unassailable a position as Caesar’s, and almost as 
quickly as he had boasted. 

Campobossi and Amalia saw her home ; where she 
hopped up to her room and into bed and slept as sweetly 
as she had ever done at St Nytoiiche’s, while young 
(and old) Brussels was hymning her praise and pouring 
out libations (down its own throat) to her sudden glory. 
The cafds found a run in wines of yellow tint, smooth 
and sweet — the manager’s poetry had not been wasted 
on aesthetic Brussels. Even he had not thought of the 
busy city drinking wine to match her hair. 

When she danced after that first night, the reception 
was always one of great noise, but she never minded. 
She knew now that she was there, as her fancy told her, 
and that she would stop there. 

Flowers began to arrive at the theatre ; sent forthwith 


Zoe the Dancer 105 


to the Hospital conveniently at hand ; this was Amalia’s 
idea. Three-cornered notes, sealed letters, cyphered 
envelopes were brought at every performance, returned 
unopened by the messengers ; the servants in the 
theatre were given orders to carry none round. 

Lalage and her young man came to see. Cassis, the 
attendant swain, pretended to admire prodigiously, but 
bulk was his beau ideal of beauty in woman. He had 
certainly preferred the Tauzy, who had approached his 
notions of real beauty very closely, but he wisely said 
nothing about that. A man at Lalage’s side was 
wondering how the dooce the girl kept her wig on. 

“ A wig, sir ! ” Lalage broke in impulsively. “ That’s 
her own lovely hair ! ” 

“ Her own hair ? Oh, I say, you know, but no one’s 
got hair like that.” 

“ No one else has, that’s true,” said Lalage. “ There 
isn’t such another crop on earth.” 

“ How do you know ? ” she was asked, and in return 
asked him if he had never looked in Joseph’s window. 

“ Why, I say, she can’t be that hairdresser’s model, 
can she ? ” 

“ Indeed she can,” declared Lalage, and might have 
said much more but that Cassis led her away to 
prevent it. 

The news got about. Joseph’s shop was as thronged 
as ever. The town rushed thither for the Infallible, 
now rather languishing. Joseph had the wit to order 
five thousand labels with a slightly altered title : 
Zoe’s Infallible. Brother Frederic was perhaps the 
only man who did not spend a few francs on a bottle. 


106 Zo'e the Dancer 


He had passed the shop and noted the defection of the 
principal attraction, but his tastes did not warrant his 
going in to purchase anything that he might inquire ; 
and it was chance alone that brought Zoe almost to a 
stop in her pirouette when she saw his rosy counte- 
nance on the far side of the footlights. 

Perhaps you will wonder how this holy man came to 
be in a place so professedly secular as a music hall. 
Doesn’t his very presence there, and that of some of his 
colleagues, prove beyond dispute that that entertain- 
ment was all that the management claimed for it — 
refined, classical, pure, select ? 

When Zoe entered, his Keverence watched her 
enchanted. A minute passed, he was ravished; two 
minutes, he began to doubt ; a third, and something 
jogged his brain : perhaps it was the straw-coloured 
tights she had worn at the breaking-up, which he 
most certainly recognised; perhaps it was the sunny 
hair he had known and admired for many a year : 
at any rate, his mind gave a leap and ran backwards 
and forwards. The seconds ticked out another minute, 
their insidious voice drowned by the scrape and puff of 
music. 

Pirouette, do you?” said Brother Frederic. “I’ll 
pirouette across to the Convent after this, or I’m a 
Dutchman,” which being Flemish, he very nearly was. 
And at the close of the performance he did go across 
to the Convent : not pirouetting however, his age, size, 
and calling combining against this graceful form of 
ambulation. 

To his breathless account Sister Superior nodded in 


Zo’e the Dancer 107 


a dreadfully imposing manner. “ It shall be stopped,” 
was her edict. “ Stopped it shall be.” 

“ How ? ” said her Confessor, who was beginning to 
wish he hadn’t been in such a hurry. 

“ How ? ” echoed the Sister Superior with scorn. 
Then on a different tone, “ Well, how would ym ? ” 

“I shouldn’t,” said Brother Frederic. “I just 
thought I’d mention it, that’s all. Peace with you, my 
dear Sister.” 

Wouldn’t ? ” gasped his dear Sister. 

Why should you ? ” said the nervous Brother. 
“ Her case was always a difficult one. She’s suited to 
this twirligig twiddly kind of business. Now if it 
were Sister Joy or one of the novices ” 

“ Sister Joy what ? ” 

“ Kicking her legs about, I mean, it would be one’s 
clear duty to interfere.” 

“ I certainly should interfere,” said Sister Superior, 
with difficulty. 

“And very rightly, my dear Sister,” pursued our 
tactless cleric. “ But as it’s only Zoe, I say let the girl 
alone. It’s one way of making a living, like another. 
Better,” he added, “ than some others.” 

“ We are not,” said Sister Superior, “ discussing the 
ramifications of the subject. I say it should be 
stopped.” 

“ You know best,” the Brother said politely. “ Peace 
with you.” 

“ And with you.” 

“ To the pleasure of seeing you again,” said he, and 
came out, speculative. “ I really am an old woman^' he 


108 Zoe the Dancer 


speculated, “ she looked very charming. Tush ! Why, if 
she'd gone to the altar with that gosling Cari-F^de, Td never 
have forgiven myself It'd he monstrous." 

That was very old history. The rejected swain, as 
we know, had taken to his glass of beer of an evening 
again. 


Chapter X 

is parenthetically descriptive 


S ister superior retired with her news, 
digested it in private, considered it from all 
sides, and decided to ignore the matter 
entirely. Not a word of her knowledge 
should she breathe to her Sisters : their innocency 
should not be harmed by the slightest knowledge of 
Zoe’s defection. Brother Frederic had wisely advised ; 
silence was the only weapon with which to overcome 
Apollyon in this pass. Let the Sisterhood not stir 
one finger to exhort, prevent, or repudiate the girl, and 
who was to know that she ever issued from their 
modest doors ? After a few private lamentations very 
quietly performed. Sister Superior returned to her 
juniors, dismissing, as best she might, the matter from 
her mind. 

Zoe therefore stayed undisturbed. The Brother 
returned, not once, but often, while she awaited the 
thunder of Conventual wrath. 

Meeting him in the street, Zoe would nod and smile 
again. She sought him out in his little office, though 
it meant for her a long walk past any number of 
churches, and confessed, to his attentive ear, her little 
charming sins. He sighed plaintively at the sound of 
her voice, having no need to peep behind the green 
curtain to establish her identity ; he felt that she 
was too much for him. Priestcraft saved him not. 


109 


110 


Zoe the Dancer 


He absolved her grudgingly, piled up the penances on 
the slightest provocation, became a harsh and unjust 
confessor. The penitent was absolutely lamb-like ; she 
would trot away with her dose of penances, get through 
it, and come back with more sins — such trivial sins. 
Brother Frederic reflected that we all have to earn our 
Paradise ; not age and infirmity are the heaviest 
crosses. 

She was entirely blithe : penance was a joy to her ; 
she would have enjoyed pain, so full of life was she. 
Every minute of her busy day was a pleasure to her, 
even the bad minutes. Life held all wonders, all 
delights, all bliss untasted yet : she travelled her youth 
with her great happiness. 

Her theatrical triumph alone, though it was a 
triumph, was not the chief cause of her constant 
rejoicing. The world of the music-hall brought her 
more friends, and to her, friendship was, after life, the 
greatest good. She lived for love ; if the objects of her 
sincere affection were little worthy of it, why, so much 
the more generous she. 

The manager became one of her allies ; out of the 
wings he was a mild creature, hardened and furious 
only during rehearsal. Then he might well be dreaded : 
Jove-like in his wrath he became, and even Zoe quailed 
before him. Long pale whiskers, that flowed unscissored 
from his cheeks, gave him in repose a melancholic look. 
He derived a nickname from them : Zoe found herself 
invited to drop the Mister and call him Whiskers for 
short ; it was a mark of favour. She did so, trying to 
pronounce the name deferentially. It amazed and 
troubled her exceedingly to note the air her manager 


Zoe the Dancer 111 

took, in suaver moments, with the girls — young ladies, 
we should say — of the ballet. He was disgustingly 
familiar, and not he only. Pian-piano — every man 
on the stage — rallied them with vulgar familiarity. 
A longer acquaintance with the ladies had resolved 
Zoe that they led up to it and fully expected it. Her 
they treated civilly, in good fellowship, but without 
coarseness. She was given a room alone, over which 
Peggy, when sober, presided with dignity. 

When sober. When otherwise that dresser had a 
way of strolling mysteriously off; whither, Zoe was 
long in learning. It transpired later that the lady had 
a brother, whom vocation had enclosed in the Fraternity ; 
to him she wandered when the mood was on her, and 
the secularity of dressing rooms and fleshings had no 
attraction for her. Of Zoe’s small dressing-room, 
Peggy alone was free. There were times when pota- 
tions too soon overcame her, and she could not achieve 
her visit to the distant Fraternity. On such occasions 
she crept to Zoe’s little chamber and sank dozily in the 
most comfortable corner. Zoe tried vainly to make 
her understand that she would have no dealings with 
her unless she were sober. Peggy vowed she’d never 
touch another drop. It became a regular recurring 
scene. When at times she slumbered cosily in Zoe’s 
room, our damsel would slip off to the larger room 
where the girls dressed. She hated to go among them ; 
they were coarse and unashamed. With alarm she noted 
evidences of unseemly chatter ; it is certain that her 
presence checked the girls : they believed her to be a 
lady and priggish. When the door closed after her, the 
talk resumed was more than coarse. 


112 Zo'e the Dancer 


Among the perils of theatre life, Zoe had found a 
friend, the “ Caramalia,” wife to the hasso profondo. She 
was one of those fortunate creatures who keep their 
personal attractions to the very limit of old age. In 
middle life she was handsome enough to inspire passions 
galore. The circumstance did not affect her : all her 
affection was settled on the gigantic Campobossi. They 
worshipped each other. “ That angel Amalia,” and 
“ that dear old silly, Campobossi,” were their means of 
reference to each other. She had for him besides her 
adoration a motherly care. Campobossi, pirouetting in 
navy-blue tights, roaring the songs of Brigands and 
Pirates in opera, howling the words of Prophets in 
Oratorios, was always her dear child, her boy, her lad 
Pipi. With the most tender solicitude, she would wrap 
his obese form in her own cloak, when he came off 
heated from taking the low G ; and with courteous bow 
he would wear it, kissing her hand gallantly as she 
hooked it about him. Every roar he emitted was 
celestial music to her ears ; every movement she made 
was cherubic motion to his eyes. 

Amalia confirmed Zoe in the belief that, as she 
wanted to be treated in the theatre, so she would be. 
“No one can protect you like yourself,” she assured 
her. And so the girl discovered. No man assailed 
her: she possessed a purifying innocence, that pre- 
vented, of itself, offence. 

A vaguely sentimental air hung about pug-faced 
Pian-piano ; he stared calf-like at her as she danced ; 
but custom staled his basilisk eye. Frequently he 
asked if he might walk home with her ; she firmly re- 
fused. If he brought flowers, as she believed, they 


Zoe the Dancer 


113 


were sent with all others to the Hospital. Admirers 
were speedily cured of that system by her drastic 
remedy. If he sent notes, they were at once returned, 
and without comment. 

So inoffensive was he, for all his moonishness, that 
she related her part of the aftair to Lalage with some 
regret. 

“ But he does stare so,” she reiterated, at points in 
the narration. 

“ I wish,” sighed Lalage, “ someone’d stare at me ! ” 

“ Well, don’t they ? ” 

“ Men, I mean,” Lalage said with comfortable regret. 

“ You don’t.” 

“ Oh, don’t I, just ? They’re not half so gentlemanly 
and all that sort of thing, the fellows I know.” 

“ I thought you were engaged,” Zoe coldly suggested. 

“ So I am,” returned the buxom creature calmly. 
‘I forgot. I mean before Cassis’ time.” Zoe shook 
her head gravely. “I don’t want you to imagine,” 
Lalage went on bovinely, “ that I encourage ’em, Zozo, 
I don’t suppose I should, you know, but I should like 
to have that deferential kind of attention paid to me. 
Pian-piano must think loads of you.” 

Zoe kept her further information to herself. Lalage 
had mistaken the mood: she was not quick to seize 
subtleties ; sentimentality was not the tone ; she had 
been wrongly impressed. 

Meanwhile, Zoe danced, was applauded, danced again ; 
summer drew out, she skipped before the foreigners 
(we were all distinguished in those days, and never 
went abroad without our couriers) who thronged the 
town at that season. Miss Tauzy, at the same time. 


II 


114 Zoe the Dancer 


was buying rich attire in excess ; when autumn 
tinctured the leaves, Zoe also procured a dress and, clad 
in it, stood behind that lady and Joseph at the altar. 
There was, as you note, complete amity between the 
two ; and as the proprietress of the establishment the 
late Tauzy could allow Joseph to dower our young 
lady with a set of magnificent tortoiseshell combs, 
which he handed her in a private interview with 
Martha, just as they used to be. The compliments 
fitted the magnificence of the gift, and moved Zoe 
to a plethora of sentiment ; she left the shop with 
tears running down her cheeks, and went so far 
as to kiss the combs before trying their effect in her 
dainty tresses. It was not wholly on account of J oseph 
that she did so. The girl was for the while all heart ; 
partings melted her; she had an enormous capacity 
for loving. She would have kissed you or me at that 
moment. If only we hear you sigh (and we echo your 
exhalation), if only we’d been there ! 


Chapter XI 

begins promisingly with the Fates hut descends to mortals 


T he Fates looked with disdain on the 
monotony of such a life. Pleasant morn- 
ings, pleasant afternoons, pleasant nights 
were woven ad nauseam into the texture 
of Zoe’s days. No sombre tint relieved the sameness 
of the equable shade, no thread of gold was interwoven : 
the stuff was pure homespun, unworthy of their loom. 
Out went their grey old hands for new threads, and 
they found one, tangled it marvellously about, and 
wrought it into the fabric of her life. 

The unconscious She sat at her mending in her little 
bedroom. She rented the parlour in these brighter 
days, but as often as not she preferred to sit on the 
bed, with her feet on the chair, and breathe the fumes 
of the slow combustion stove, rather than to loll in 
ease in the florid furniture of the best apartment. 
With feet upraised and the solitary chair piled with 
furbelows in need of stitches, she sewed diligently. 
The appearance of Lalage was unexpected : it was Cassis’ 
evening to meet her in the park. The rendezvous was a 
bi-weekly event : Zoe knew time and place exactly. 

However, here was Lalage, and Lalage was cross. 
She had been waiting for Cassis for quarter of an hour, 
and he had not even then arrived. She kicked her 
heels together and frowned at Zoe. 

“ I think he’s a wretch,” said she. 


115 


116 Zo'e the Dancer 


“ Making me wait. Who ever heard ? 

“ I hate dangling about 

“’S a man’s place to wait, not a lady’s. And the 
Park is so draughty.” 

Zoe was wisely dumb. She had never seen Lalage 
roused to annoyance before. 

“I hope he’s there now, waiting for me. The last 
time I’ll go out with the horrid fellow. 

“ I do despise anyone unpunctual. 

“ Catch me marrying a laggard.” She took another 
look at her watch. 

“I only hope there’s nothing the matter. I don’t 
remember ever having to wait before. 

“ The warehouse shuts at five. He’s never been 
detained. 

“ I do hope the poor fellow hasn’t got hurt. 

“ I don’t know his address or I’d go 

“ Why canH you say something, you moonstruck dancer, 
you ? ” 

“ I expect he’s waiting for you now, Lalage,” said 
Zoe, thus adjured. 

“ If you were me ” 

“ I’d go,” Zoe declared. 

“ You only say that because you want to get rid of 
me. I’d like to see myself on the run after a fellow 
who always keeps me waiting an hour ” ; saying which, 
she titivated her hair at Zoe’s glass, shook herself neat, 
and went away. Half an hour later, Zoe, issuing into 
the street on her easy way to the theatre, came upon 
her hurrying distractedly towards her room. 

“ Oh, Zoe, he hasn’t come ! ” she cried, weeping the 
while. “ It’s nearly an hour now. What can I do ? ” 


Zo'e the Dancer 


117 


“ Well go to the warehouse,” said Zoe. “ You know 
which it is, don’t you ? ” 

The porter at the warehouse assured them that Cassis 
had left with the other workers ; he gave them his 
home address : weeping Lalage and comforting Zoe 
hurried thither. It was as the girl had feared : Cassis 
had been hurt on his homeward way by a falling ladder. 
A gentleman had taken him in his carriage to a doctor’s 
and thence home. The gentleman was with him now. 
Cassis, bound about the head, was lying on a long chair 
before the window, half dazed. Lalage was all sorrow 
at seeing him in pain. Zoe talked apart with the 
Samaritan stranger. 

“ I shall look in again later,” he told her, his accent 
betraying his origin from perfidious Albion. “ But I 
think the young lady should not wait. He was advised 
to rest.” 

Zoe took her off, thanking him earnestly. A clock 
pointed three minutes before the hour: Zoe was due 
on the stage at a quarter past, and the young man’s 
lodging was quite that distance from the theatre. She 
cried good-bye to Lalage, bowed to the Englishman, who 
had come down behind them, and ran off fleet-foot 
without a word of excuse. Lalage understood her 
hurry, and took her time comfortably to explain dt to 
the stranger, as she thanked him for his care of her 
lover. 

Zoe, fleeing gazelle-like through the streets, was 
overtaken by the carriage which had borne Cassis to 
his lodging. At the earnest invitation of the gentleman 
to mount beside him, she jumped in and was rapidly 
driven to the theatre. She was really grateful: her 


118 


Zo'e the Dancer 


countryman’s manner was so kind, his actions so charit- 
able, his disposition so thoughtful, that she felt a glow 
of patriotic pride. Unaware of her nationality, he felt 
a certain pride also in his lovely companion. He noticed 
her beauty sidelong with immense complacency. A 
charitable deed is truly its own reward. 

It is well that we are not given to moralising, and 
that you ask for no homily, otherwise should we by 
now be plunged head-over-heels in a morass of the most 
metaphysical ponderings, whence good luck and a 
Providence that shapes our ends alone could drag us. 
Well is it also that we court not the Muse, for did we 
so, Olympic invocations with reference to the amazing 
chance that brings one character face to face with 
another had filled more than one page of this story. 0 

wondrous Pates, at whose behest ! we might have 

begun, and the Devil himself couldn’t have stopped us. 
Mythology piecemeal invoked, we should have exploited 
every abstraction possible ; we should have made nouns 
of the potential moods of all the auxiliary verbs and 
used them in the vocative. Exclamation marks would 
have starred the page, capital letters overflowed. Our 
heroine and her adventures would have been separately 
brought in, in the ablative absolute, and carefully re- 
capitulated, each in a synopsis of ten words. We might 
have outdone the eighteenth century for sentiment and 
the twentieth for typography. 

But the story proceeds calmly sans pyrotechnics. 
Ungarnislied prose relates plain facts. Our heroine 
loves and sighs (in the proper place) within the limits 
of a paragraph. 

Lalage knew very little of metaphysics, mucli of life ; 


Zoe the Dancer 


119 


she was of that retrograde sex that believes in instinct. 
She fostered an inexplicable antagonism which her 
Zozo’s countryman had aroused in her primordial soul. 
She was grateful: no one, to quote her frequent 
asseveration, could be more so ; but she had cordially 
wished Cassis’s rescuer were another. What other she 
did not stipulate ; any other, probably ; the instrument 
of Providence, duly thanked for in prayers and offerings, 
was disliked for himself. Progress loses heart dejectedly 
in face of such primitiveness : that the nineteenth 
century should, could contain so superstitious and 
hysterical a being was of itself amazing. Lalage, as 
matters stood, considered herself by unseen agency 
marked as the enemy of the Englishman : she accepted 
the situation reverently. Persuasion and reasoning 
were equally useless : she intended to dislike, and like 
she wouldn’t, though Cassis talked himself hoarse. 
Subsequent interviews served to strengthen the 
obstinate creature in her distrust. She communicated 
it promptly to Zoe. The recipient of these unsought 
confidences listened in calm ; she also revelled in the 
luxury of instinct ; her heart had not quailed before her 
compatriot. She put the prejudice down to anti- 
British feeling in her friend. It certainly was mis- 
placed prejudice. 

To the Englishman Cassis owed his safety and the 
speed of his recovery. The gentleman’s name, printed 
in neat script on the most delicate of pasteboard, was 
Wychthwaite. Zoe alone of the group to whom this 
card was shown with awe, coped with this ineuphonious 
jumble. Nameless by reason of his unpronounceability, 
he was nevertheless the good fairy in the household of the 


120 


Zoe the Dancer 


young workman. He read to him, played chess with 
him, took him driving, used his influence at the ware- 
house with the glowing result that Cassis did not lose 
his employment, and in short was the very essence of 
good Saniaritanism. Everybody had to admit that, 
even the mentally undeveloped Lalage. Grudgingly 
she did admit it, recounting his kindness, affability, 
generosity, and thoughtfulness with belittling comment 
to our silent Zoe. She laughed, it is true, at Lalage’s 
struggle with the name which she, in sure proof of 
Anglo-Saxon origin, tripped easily over. Lalage and 
Cassis met it with the respect and unwillingness that 
characterise the true Mussulman in respect of another 
name : they as scrupulously avoided it. Not talismanic, 
it had yet a subtle force and poetic charm that his 
'proUg^s could not deny. It evoked from Campobossi an 
honest sigh. 

If only I could pronounce it,^’ he was wont to wish, 
“what a lovely curse it would make.” 

He was, alas ! unable to pronounce it. His perform- 
ance on that mysterious line of letters was entirely 
innocuous. A baby might have heard it, unmoved. 
Zoe went on her way between the fiery breathings of 
Lalage’s suspicions and Campobossi’s vain endeavours. 
Cassis was recovering. Greater things were afoot. 


Chapter XII 

is genteel 


C ASSIS was not the only invalid, or the most 
interesting. 

Zoe had, within the earlier days of his 
illness, received a summons to the bedside 
of no less a person than Claire, her beloved Claire of the 
convent. If the friendship between the two in school- 
girl days had been something general, it had also been 
sincere : that it had lapsed is not to be wondered at. 
After the term had closed and Zoe had tripped, as we 
have seen, out upon life’s road with her hair and her 
small black trunk, to make her way alone, Miss 
Burmance had been carried off (we had almost said 
“ translated ”) in a grand carriage to her home, of which 
every member was in office at court. That shelter she 
had almost immediately left to go to a husband, whose 
position was as high as hers. She moved in a circle of 
wealth and aristocracy. 

The convent was, for her, closed for ever. She was 
not known to express chagrin. A giiTs friendships are 
apt to die a natural death when the woman supersedes 
the child. Claire had at times thought lovingly of Zoej 
without, however, making any effort to find her. At 
length the fat letters that shouted the tiny name aloud 
in the public streets obtruded on her notice. She 
wondered, sent a friend to the theatre, heard about the 
hair, and was convinced. Then and there she would 

121 


122 


Zoe the Dancer 


have summoned her friend to her, hut for a more inti- 
mate event which fell about this time. When the 
dancer was sent for, Claire was thought to be at the 
point of death : a child, five days old, healthy and 
beautiful, lay at her side ; the young mother gazed on 
it with tears. It was to solicit Zoe’s care for this little 
one she had sent for her. 

“ I always have loved you, Zoe,” she said. “ How 
often I’ve thought of you and your clever fingers when 
I was sewing my baby’s tiny clothes ! When I began 
to feel so ill, it was to you my heart and mind both 
turned. I want you to look after her, when I’m gone. 
I should die happier if I thought you would, Zoe.” 

Zoe fondled the little child in tears ; its dimples and 
rosiness delighted her. She undertook the charge with 
a strange new feeling of responsibility : the soft hand 
that clung to her or Claire’s finger impartially made 
her tremble with joy. She felt her heart stirring wildly 
within her for love of the bonny child. 

She kissed Claire. 

“ My dear,” she whispered, “ you can’t die when you 
look at this sweet mite ” 

Claire looked and looked, the idea appealed to her : 
she pondered, sighed, smiled, and thenceforward grew 
strong. The rosy baby was not to be motherless. 

Zoe became her devout sponsor, undertaking the 
temporary charge of her infantile soul. As baby’s 
godmother, you may imagine if she was restored to her 
old place as Claire’s intimate. Claire might know a 
dancer (that is Art), but there was no speech of putting 
Lalage again into her friendship — a shop is low. More- 
over, Miss Caxe might be anyone — ducal, regal blood 


Zoe the Dancer 123 


might flow in her veins ; about Miss Cari-Pede there 
was no hopeful doubt : commerce had borne and bred 
her, in commerce she moved and had her being. Claire 
once had liked her well : the matter was distinctly of 
the past. She asked for news of her, heard, com- 
mended, shrugged her broad shoulders and inwardly 
despised. 

The society of Claire’s house was exceedingly 
pleasant to Zoe. The adoring husband, the young 
mother, the delicious baby were all beloved of her. 
Theatre friends appeared coarse and uncivilised in 
comparison with them ; theatre surroundings hideous 
by the comfort and elegance of Claire’s house. It 
stood in a tiny park, some distance from the city ; an 
agreeable open walk led to it, shortened and made 
pleasanter by paths across fields. The way soon 
became familiar to Zoe, who had exploited all the 
short cuts and possible differentiations of route in half- 
a-dozen walks. She trod it often, playing with the 
rosy child when she awoke from her afternoon’s sleep, 
or reading to Claire, very piously, from highly recom- 
mended books of devotion. Together these earnest 
young women discussed points of doctrine and religious 
education by the hour, all with a view to the unconscious 
infant’s training. 

Claire grew well enough to share the exuberant de- 
light of " bathing baby ” ; when she was quite restored, 
the little one fell ill. Fever oppressed it; in all its 
unharming babyhood it was tormented ; through the 
quiet afternoons that Zoe spent at its side, she could 
hear its short, sharp breathings, until all nature seemed 
to listen to that token of pain. Prayer was stayed on 


124 Zoe the Dancer 


her lips as she watched the tiny breast rising and 
falling rapidly ; it appeared that the great gods must 
sleep while such things were suffered. Continually 
Zoe trod that path, to comfort Claire, who could 
not pray, could not think, could do even nothing. 
Against her will the girl seemed drawn to her friend 
in her trouble ; though she experienced every mental 
torture being with her, yet she could not keep away. 

Day after day, as she had watched Claire, she 
watched the child grow into convalescence, and thence, 
but slowly, slowly into health. Her happiness re- 
turned; rare joys, of seeing the bright eyes flutter to 
a glance, became frequent ; now its cheek grew round, 
then rosy ; its grasp was close and strong. Zoe found 
prayer loosened on her lips. If no supplications were 
sent in the hour of greatest anguish to the Powers, they 
at any rate got the credit from these devout folk of 
having accomplished the child’s restoration. 

Zoe was commended also by the parents. “If it 
hadn’t been for you,” became a common phrase : a great 
sigh, for the most part, finished the sentence. Zoe 
adored the baby in public, in private she built it a 
shrine in her innermost heart, whither her purest and 
gentlest thoughts only were free to stray. It was the 
first child she had ever nursed in her arms or kissed. 
The soft strength of its hands held her irresistibly. 


Chapter XIII 

contains an advantageous a'ppearance 

A rTEENOON journeyings to the baby and 
back again had left Zoe little time for 
anything else. The theatre claimed her 
evenings ; rehearsals, never by the careful 
manager allowed to lapse, occupied her mornings. She 
discovered herself cut off from an older friend. Lalage 
had called at her room several times, found Zoe con- 
sistently absent, and went no more. She knew nothing 
of Claire’s reappearance, but she was swift to realise, 
when at length she heard of it, that friendship cannot 
survive the counter. 

Zoe heard of her visits, was remorseful and ashamed 
of herself for neglecting the sweet dear. Lalage had 
always been good to her ; how her family in earlier 
days had treated Zoe, we very well know. Lalage 
might be vulgar, most decidedly was, in speech and 
manner ; but she was very kind, and Zoe, with a blush, 
remembered, before Claire had stooped to regain her 
friendship, she herself had been very glad of Lalage’s. 

“ Dear me ! ” she said in the solitude of her tiny 
bedroom. “ I behave shabbily to every one I know.” 
She wrote to ask her friend to a supper-party after her 
turn at the theatre ; fritters, macaroons, and coffee to 
make up the concrete part of it, girl’s chatter to supply 
everything else. 

The hour arriving, Zoe went to the boulevard. A 

125 


126 


Zoe the Dancer 


bleak wind was sweeping the road free of all save the 
necessitous. Few loungers would face such a blast. 
Every breath of it, every sound of it told of coming 
snow ; it pierced warm shawls and skirts, going with 
icy deliberation straight to the marrow of one’s bones. 
The ill-clad hung^in blue misery in the mean shelter of 
walls and trees. The hungry braved the wind and 
gathered with nipped hands n tattered pockets, before 
the windows of cook-shops. 

Zoe heartily wished she had been less punctual : 
every second was emphasised by a cold puff that lifted 
her shawl or whistled round her feet : her bonnet rose 
and fell, her eyes closed to the bitterness of the air. 
A doorway offered partial shelter; she stood within, 
hugging her garments about her and stamping her feet. 
At the sight of Lalage speedily approaching, she waved 
genially without leaving her quiet haven. The girl 
passed swiftly, unseeing, on the outside of the pave- 
ment. Zoe darted out to intercept her, but Lalage 
went so fast and so straight that she could not gain on 
her. Zoe perceived that she was not the only person 
trying to overtake the blue cloak ; between her and 
the fleet-footed girl two young men kept their place, 
obviously in pursuit. Zoe ran a few steps and arrived 
close behind them. The almost empty Boulevard was 
well suited to brisk walking : no leisured crowds 
hindered the passage of the quartette. 

From her position Zoe could hear the conversation of 
the two men; they were English, and, to judge from 
their tone, gentlemen ; their voices betrayed education ; 
their present occupation, leisure and its usual con- 
comitant. Zoe understood Lalage’s headlong flight. 


Zoe the Dancer 127 


She hoped vainly to tire her persecutors or to throw 
them off by taking to the quiet streets of the south. 
She feared above all things to slacken speed or to turn 
aside ; she was possessed, Daphne-like, by the instinct of 
dread. Under her breath, she whispered continually 
her lover’s name. 

The hounds in pursuit laughed and joked. Zoe 
heard them discussing whether they should “ tire the 
buxom beauty out or catch her up.” They decided to 
do the former. Zoe foresaw the end of the chase in the 
darker and less frequented streets of the south, whither 
Lalage in uncalculating terror still led the way. She 
determined that the chase should not end thus. 
Eunning again, the more wildly urged on, since they 
had left the gas-lit shops behind and were in darker 
ways, she reached Lalage’s side. The hurry was at an 
end. Together the girls turned to face the men and 
tried to make their way back. The situation was 
desperate. 

“ Aha, my beauties ! ” cried one. “ Two of you are 
there ? All right, one each ! ” 

“Let the scraggy one go,” his companion said, in 
Zoe’s mother-tongue. The insult heartened her; she 
was in no danger herself. So much the better, 
she held for it both. She did not dare to cry for 
help; such an appeal might bring upon them more 
offenders. 

“ Let us go ! ” she cried in English. 

“English! by all that’s lovely!” said the one who 
had called her scraggy. 

“ Let the girls go, you cads,” said another voice, and 
the two cowards fell back. Zoe and Lalage, with never 


128 Zoe the Dancer 


a word for their rescuer, fled hand in hand, far from 
the scene of their danger. 

Safe in Zoe’s room, Lalage took breath. “ Did you 
see who it was ? ” she asked. 

“ Was ? ” 

“ The one who saved us.” 

“ Not I,” said Zoe ; “ I shouldn’t care if it was the 
Old Gentleman himself, so long as we got away.” 

“ You don’t care ! ” Lalage repeated with round eyes. 

“Not a jot,” Miss Caxe declared; “why should I ? 
Bless you ! Men are our natural protectors, aren’t 
they ? ” 

“Humph! I’d be sorry to trust all of ’em,” said 
Lalage, fresh from her experience of man. They 
munched fritters speculatively ; their appetites had 
not been impaired by the fright. 

“It was viche-viche, I give it up,” Lalage at last 
resumed between bites. 

“ What on earth are you talking about ? ” asked Zoe. 

“ Our defender. Our saviour.” 

“ What about him ? ” 

“ Viche, you know W-y-c-h, St Joseph knows how it 
goes on. I don’t,” Lalage said. 

Zoe turned a rosy face to the fire. “Mr Wychth- 
waite.” 

“ Yes. It’s a mystery how you get that out of it.” 

“ I thought I knew the voice,” she commented with 
her mouth full. 

“ He’s nice, if ever anyone was,” she went on, after a 
pause. 

“ Those devils were English,” Lalage cried viciously. 

“ I hate your countrymen, Zozo.” 


Zoe the Dancer 129 


“ Mr Wychthwaite is my countryman,” declared 
Zoe. 

The information did not apparently alter Lalage’s 
feeling toward our race. “ It takes all sorts to make 
— the English,” she pronounced at last. 


I 


Chapter XIV 

shows how a proverb is put into practice 


I T was, as any decent person will admit, only 
civil in Miss Caxe, when by chance she met Mr 
Wychthwaite outside the town, to allow him 
(at his own request) to walk with her. She 
believed it fell about by chance. The truth of the 
matter was that he had followed her on several 
occasions to Claire’s house or homewards, in the hope 
of her recognising him. No doubt she would have 
done so, had he not prevented this most happy con- 
summation by keeping his distance so respectfully that 
he only enjoyed the sight of triangular bits of skirt as 
she whisked round corners. While she went steadily 
on, he would wait a while and then run a little, very 
warily. Nothing was to be gained by such dubiously 
civil proceedings. He lay in wait and fortuitously 
took the path in the reverse direction, with the result 
that they met face to face. 

He did not understand her type. Her beauty fired 
him : he stared as long and as fatuously as her modest 
wooer Pian-piano, but he could not achieve understand- 
ing of the “ sort ” she was. Effrontery, he was lucky 
enough to divine, would not serve him, although a very 
sure weapon and largely employed in lady-killing. He 
did not care to assume the part of the suppliant, being 
accustomed in the pursuit of Beauty to carry things 
through with rather a high hand. Polite he judged he 


Zoe the Dancer 131 


must be, deferential, not in the least cringing. After 
five minutes of Zoe’s company he realised that to treat 
her on a footing of equality, as a lady, was the right 
process. To his astonishment, she responded in the 
same key. She was, he gaped to find, she was a lady. 
This was no make-believe, but the real thing. The 
discovery made him for a space mute as a fish, but 
lightened his soul considerably when the shock of it had 
passed. He had taken the road, word-perfect. The 
grand eloquence, tinged with familiarity that he had 
prepared, failed to come to his lips. Banalities were 
surer ground. 

“ I see you dance very often,” he ventured. 

“ You know who I am then,” said Zoe. 

“ Of course,” he said, “ you’re famous, I assure 
you.” 

The oft-repeated compliments had a richer flavour 
from this person. Zoe allowed a smile. 

“ I don’t know anything about you,” she permitted 
herself, in English. 

“ By Jove ! you talk English ! ” he cried. 

“ I am English,” said Zoe. 

Both of them felt this touching fact to be a bond. 
He reflected that she had a very strong Belgian accent, 
but that it was doosid jolly, all the same. She con- 
gratulated herself inwardly on her nationality. 

“ I am so glad,” he said earnestly, “ you are a com- 
patriot to be proud of.” 

“ I thought the same of you,” said Miss Caxe, no less 
seriously, “ when you helped poor Cassis and — on 
another occasion.” 

“ I like to know you think well of me,” said the 


132 Zoe the Dancer 


young man, gently sentimental, “ I should love to 
gain your esteem.” 

Zoe met this decided advance with a silent flutter. 

“ You said you didn’t know anything about me,” he 
added, after a tender pause ; and straightway fell to 
explaining his insignificant position in the machinery 
of the Embassy. Either his eloquence or Zoe’s purple 
fancy, both probably, made it appear as great a post 
and as onerous as that of a Viceroy. She was 
greatly impressed. The fate of nations lay in the 
hands of this young man ; to him foreign potentates 
bowed; kings’ messengers traversed continents with 
his correspondence. 

“ A very great responsibility,” she suggested politely. 

He sighed mightily. 

“Wearing beyond words! A fellow can hardly 
express. But there — it’s a man’s duty.” 

Zoe took a good look at him after this. He stood 
much taller than she, his long stride nearly doubled 
hers. Broad shoulders supported a bullet-head, not 
much neck intervening. The sole grace about the 
head was the flowing beard. It waved bushily about 
his face, swept his breast, floated behind his ears, 
dashed up into his eyes. A characterless brow and 
a good nose completed the features of this Esau. Zoe’s 
eyes rested chiefly on the beard. She thought it 
beautiful. 

I wish my hair curled like that, she meditated 
foolishly, and was that lovely colour. For his part, 
he admired her hair whole-heartedly, but did not desire 
to be bearded in that style. 

They found a comfort in walking together, although 


Zo'e the Dancer 133 

they were far from garrulous. They spoke of the 
weather and the landscape, but hardly a word more 
did these two solemn Britons exchange. They parted 
on the outskirts of the town: he off to his almost 
viceregal labours, she to her work in a whirl of ideas. 

Many a walk had she taken with Campobossi ; often 
had she trod the avenues in company with her manager; 
Joseph had been her squire; with Cassis she had 
strolled innumerable times, but never one of these 
excursions had given her ground for meditation. True, 
Amalia, Peggy, Martha, or Lalage had always made a 
third. Zoe was fain to ascribe the strangeness of the 
present case to the absence of this third. It was 
decidedly more pleasant to walk with one person : 
far more pleasant. A third is just one too many; 
you must turn your head one way or another to 
address your companion. Let us suppose you are the 
end one : to address your friend at the other side you 
must call across the central figure ; that is obviously 
inconvenient. Besides, you may lose remarks made 
by the middle person, if he should turn his head to 
address your peer. The dual arrangement is infinitely 
more agreeable : a proverb has been coined with refer- 
ence to it. Zoe realised the truth of it for the very 
first time. That portended something, surely ; there 
was an omen. The psychologist should have somewhat 
to say about this sudden accession of intelligence : the 
romanticist has more : leaving the psychologist to 
burrow in the dust of theories, we take to the realm 
of facts. Zoe held commune serenely with her mind 
and its new intelligence. Her heart was coldly ignored. 
Trust a woman to deceive herself. We grosser creatures 


134 Zoe the Dancer 


are too candid with ourselves. We accept facts, we are 
appalled by our own feelings, and let passion sway us. 
Love leads us blindly on by the nose, smiling like fools 
our abandon and delight ; the ladies sit at home and 
greet us calmly. We believe they know every word 
we try to say, but cruelly they prevent us. They are 
unkindest where they love. Dread thought — should 
they smile, we are undone ; we rush, to be icily re- 
pulsed. They frown, or, more formidable still, they are 
unmoved ; we creep daunted away. They triumph over 
us fallen until they choose that we shall return and rise. 
What man, knowing woman, can look his fellow in the 
eye and swear he has never been deceived ? What 
idle prattler, boasting of his prowess among dames, 
can truly declare himself never to have been worsted ? 
None : not one. Asseverations serve him not. We 
who have knelt before woman, have been ruthlessly, 
cunningly deceived — and mocked. 

Three's none, thought Miss Caxe, very true. In 
future, I shall always rememher that. Her next walk, 
the one after it and the subsequent ones, testified to her 
excellent memory. 


Chapter XV 

goes a-wooing 


D elights are said to be brief. Scarcely 
had Zoe returned to the pleasant after- 
noons at Claire’s than the loving and 
anxious husband must think it behoved 
him to take his household to the sea. Zoe reluctantly 
admitted that the sojourn was necessary, urged them to 
go, and was sorry when they agreed to do so. The last 
visit came, the last embrace of the baby, the last bath, 
the last softly breathed blessing over the cot were all 
accomplished. She wiped a tear, glanced at the 
cloak, bestirred herself at sight of the time, and said 
good-bye. 

Wychthwaite was waiting. Their greeting was sen- 
sible and cordial. She had expected him. The after- 
noon was disappointing ; it had opened sunnily, warmth 
hovering timidly above the frozen earth. Now a light 
mist rose vaguely above the fields ; the road, safer in the 
uncertain light, offered softened ruts, ankle-deep in 
places. She hesitated, stared at the suggested mud, 
and announced her intention of going across fields. 
They set their faces to the town and started away. 
Their shortest way lay far distant at most points from 
the road : a bridle path at its greatest width, narrowing 
to little over a foot wide in places. In the darkest 
night Zoe’s delicate foot could have followed it; she 
walked gaily on, straying not an inch from it. In 

135 


136 Zo'e the Dancer 


winter it was hard as iron, while the grass was crisply 
turfed; in wet weather the path was slimy and the 
herbage offered firmer walking. The gathering fog 
moistened it to a slight greasiness, but Zoe kept wisely 
to its narrow limit while the mist thickened. 

Instinctive dread of man, the conqueror, oppressed 
her somewhat as they entered the first field. She 
glanced sidewise at this hirsute specimen of Joseph’s 
deceitful sex. His full beard was silvered with beads 
of fog; the warm red of the hair shone through this 
patriarchal adornment. Drops of moisture impearled 
the ends of the moustache and were shaken off. 

What lovely hair, thought Zoe. It’s as soft as silk, 
Pm sure. Copper set with pearls was the result of 
further meditation ; though here we scent the Muse. 
She drew a fraction of a step away from him, he 
followed as a matter of course : this skilful manoeuvre 
was repeated several times, resulting in his having the 
path and her the herbage. He observed the change and 
insisted on her returning to the narrow way ; she 
obeyed falteringly. His genial but not brilliant 
attempts at conversation were answered snappily. 

If I am the least bit gentle, she thought with a 
mental shudder, who knows what may happen ? 

She therefore snubbed him brutally. Their vocal 
intercourse languished. Zoe marched primly along, full 
of alarm for her own safety; the supposed amorous 
man at her side, silent, and unemotional. 

Occasionally they could hear wheels on the road 
that ran hard by, but later the path led farther from 
the highway and they were denied that sound. Their 
very senses were rendered useless by the encroaching 


Zo'e the Dancer 137 


mist. A wall of white cloud encompassed them : 
sight was denied them : all noise was excluded ; the 
bitter sharpness of the air served to paralyse their 
sense of smell : the moist earth and the guelder rose 
were alike passed unnoticed. Their eyes could not 
pierce the surrounding harrier, vainly Zoe fixed her 
gaze on the whiteness : it gave way as she approached, 
but revealed nothing. N'ow and again, some invisible 
hand drew aside the impenetrable veil to disclose for 
an instant the near view of monstrous tree or un- 
expected hedge : then dropped it silently. 

A soft breeze stirred the fog, which surged in shades 
of greyness and whiteness to and fro before the un- 
daunted travellers. Their breath fled in a white cloud 
to join it : Zoe’s warm neck steamed, her wrists gave 
off faint vapour. 

The pallid cloud receded always, yet ever followed. 
On the right hand and on the left, it kept its distance, 
above also, in every sense unapproachable. The solid 
earth alone kept its constant station. The thud of foot 
on the ground, where the path was still hard, echoed in 
muffled threefold cadence : on the slime of untrodden 
mud, the girl’s light foot fell unheard. In spite of the 
mist, they went briskly on, Zoe setting the pace, silent 
for a while. 

“ However do you know your way ? ” he asked at 
last, while the white cloud drew nearer. 

“I keep to the path,” said Zoe, “listen.” She 
stamped her foot on the trodden way, then on the 
grass : it needed no nicety of ear to distinguish 
between the sounds. “ And if you can’t hear,” added 
she, stepping out again, “ you can feel. At least, I can.” 


138 


Zo'e the Dancer 


Wychthwaite tested this assertion as it applied to 
himself by treading a space on the path in her wake. 
He resumed his place at her side. 

“ Your foot is naturally a great deal more sensitive 
than most people’s,” he ventured. I admit there’s a 
difference, but not one that could lead me so surely as 
you seem to be going. I should need to make certain 
of each step.” 

Dear me,” said Miss. “ You wouldn’t get on very 
quickly.” 

“ I’m afraid not.” 

So inoffensively did he follow like an obedient and 
unintelligent poodle that Zoe became instinctively 
less afraid. He was nothing but a kind and gentle 
companion. A brother could not be less disinterested. 

The growing density of the fog caused the diminution 
of her modest dread. She felt glad of his company. 
He made no sign that he was glad of hers. This 
attitude of calm indifference, not without courtesy, 
satisfied her entirely. They trod their way in unex- 
plained silence, he at her side, close, but not too close, 
just visibly dark in the white fluff of mist, his mighty 
brow hidden, mountain-like, by a wisp of cloud. Then 
followed certain mental processes, as below : — 

The silence began to pall. Zoe wished he would 
speak that she might snub him. He offered no opening. 

She wanted him to make some remark, not for the 
purpose of being snubbed, but to be nicely answered. 
He made no remark. 

She would have liked him to talk about anything 
just to relieve the monotony. He said never a word. 

She felt, with her lower lip advancing a little in a 


Zo'e the Dancer 


139 


sulky pout, that he was a laggard in wooing not to say 
something tender to her. 

All of this within ten minutes. She waited, all in 
their progress without pause, for some word that should 
reveal his heart to her. None came. 

Meanwhile the billowing fog clung to them. They 
walked no longer in the centre of a globe of space. 
Now the damp clouds brushed their faces and garments ; 
the very ground was invisible, a hand held out before 
Zoe’s smarting eyes was not seen. 

She stopped, fearful of having strayed. In an instant, 
he had passed away from her. She called in dread for 
his return, knowing that by the field ran a brook, small 
indeed, but with slippery edge and several inches of 
glue-like mud beneath its waters. Her voice carried 
as far as the still striding giant : he returned, cautiously, 
a cry at each step. She shouted in return. Voices had 
a strangely choked sound : the wet air allowed of no 
gradations of tone : full clear sound was needed to 
pierce the curtain of mist. The vibrations of Wychth- 
waite’s mellow cry seemed to come from every quarter : 
Zoe grew afraid of the prison wall that divided him 
from her ; she halloed, shrilly : he seemed to draw 
away, still roaring a muffled diapason : her treble tone 
carried less far but more surely. He was silent to 
listen. She gave voice continually. 

“ Tm lost,” she understood his next cry to mean. 

“ Here, here,” she called, in frantic despair, and went 
in the direction of his voice. She fought against the 
horror out of all proportion to the cause that was over- 
coming her. His voice, fraught with bewilderment 
went farther away ; she wildly followed, her hand before 


140 Zoe the Dancer 

her. It touched some object, not human, a wall blocked 
her passage : she was at a loss. No wall had stood by 
the field she had thought to be in : the amazing dis- 
covery that she was truly lost made her dumb. 
Wychthwaite’s bellow remained unanswered. She 
fingered the wall and put her face close to it : it was far 
from new, as she had fondly hoped : grey lichen broke 
off as her hand brushed it. 

Her mind was busied with her next action ; she had 
no idea where she stood. Wychthwaite’s voice aroused 
her from her speculation : he was still out in the mist : 
she seemed to her own mind to have achieved some 
success in meeting with this wall. She took up her 
answering cry, standing by the wall ; it served to throw 
her voice to him ; at length he loomed exaggeratedly 
out of the fog. 

“We are lost,” she declared. He sighed with 
relief. 

“Well, since we’ve found each other,’” he said, “I 
don’t care so much.” 

They leaned on the wall, their arms touching. The 
wet cloud was no longer a prison to Zoe. 

“ Where are we ? ” he asked. 

“ I don’t know at all,” she said. “ I got away from 
the path.” 

“ And you don’t know this wall ? ” 

“ Not in the least. I don’t know of any wall along 
my way.” 

He felt above him with a great invisible hand : the 
top of the wall was just above his head. “ I’ll climb up 
and see what’s on the other side,” he said. 

Zoe laughed merrily. “ See ? ” 


Zoe the Dancer 


141 


“ I suppose not,” he had to admit. “ Aren’t you 
cold, Miss Caxe?” 

“Very,” said Zoe. 

“ There ought to be some means of finding our way,” 
he mused. “ How did the fellows in Marryat’s and 
Cooper’s books find their way, I wonder ? ” 

“ By the sun, I believe,” said Zoe. 

“ Have you a compass ? ” he went on. 

“Unfortunately not.” 

“ Moss always grows,” he continued to murmur, “ on 
the north side of a wall. This is moss, isn’t it ? ” 

“ I call it lichen.” 

“ Well it’s that kind of thing.” 

“ Oh, yes.” 

“Then this is the north side of the wall,” he 
announced decisively. 

“ I don’t see that that’s much good, if we don’t know 
where the wall stands,” said Zoe. 

“ It stands east and west.” 

Zoe had nothing more to answer. She was exceed- 
ingly angry, with the weather for being so utterly vile 
and with him for talking such nonsense. She knew 
very well that the only thing she wanted to hear was 
not even remotely connected with the habitat of mosses 
and the geography of walls. Wychthwaite wisely held 
his peace. The whiteness departed from the mist 
which hung closer and thicker. A sombre tinge dyed 
it ; it deepened, grew black. Zoe’s anger gave place to 
resignation : every limb was icy cold : her joints ached ; 
her eyes had tears wrung from them. 

“ We must move,” he said at last, “ if we don’t want 
to be frozen.” 


142 


Zo'e the Dancer 


They started away, hand in hand, he holding to the 
wall. Progress was slow and difficult ; the ground was 
inches deep with mud : great sharp-edged stones hid in 
it ; Zoe’s thin shoes were ruined, the sides of her feet 
badly bruised. Wychtwaite lumbered slowly on, each 
foot, invisibly planted in the yielding mess, was drawn 
out with the jplup of thick mud. Their steps were short 
and uncertain : they staggered and lurched, pulled this 
way and that, but dared not let go each other’s hand. 

Wychthwaite announced the end of the wall — a 
corner : they turned, followed that as painfully. Zoe 
was tired beyond expression ; her sole comfort was in 
the grip of the great hand that enveloped all of hers. 
That little member was warm and glowing; at the 
realization of it, her heart glowed also. She would 
have loved him to draw her quite close and kiss her ; 
the thought of such delight made her whole body warm. 
She moved her fingers in his hand ; he answered with 
a firmer hold ; Zoe pursed up her lips in the privacy of 
her fog-prison and made a silent kiss toward him. She 
wished the fog had lifted for the space of it, but the pall 
was inexorably steady. 

Most cordially she despised her own height ; had she 
been little, he might have carried her in his arms, close 
to his breast, her face on his shoulder, her arms about 
his neck : another glow of heat ran through her, to be 
succeeded by the physical cold that was wearing her 
out. Her head drooped sadly. 

“ Ho more wall,” said Wychthwaite. They stopped. 
Another corner was exploited, and they pursued their 
way dully. Zoe trod on a stone that hurt the arch of 
her foot; she feared for her feet and let herself be 


Zoe the Dancer 143 

thrown away from Wychthwaite’s side, rather than 
sustain any injury to her delicate members. She fell 
but was pulled up with a jerk : he retained her hand and 
putting his arm about her unseen body, drew her close 
to him. Zoe was all aflame. The world was shut out 
from them : they stood alone. She waited with starved 
lips, in the dusk, for a kiss. He released her and 
stepped on. 

This weary journeying— how long it seemed to Zoe 
her cavalier could not know — brought them to a gate 
in the wall; after much fumbling, to a door. They 
knocked, were admitted, and Zoe was put by a smoking 
disagreeable fire. The man who had welcomed them 
was anxious to start for the town, where, he assured 
them, the fog would be less dense. Without some 
company he would not have started, it wasn’t a night 
to be alone in. If the lady cared to ride in his cart, the 
gentleman must take a lantern with him and lead the 
horse. 

Zoe made no sign of assent : with averted face, she 
sat close by the fire. Wychthwaite went out with the 
man to prepare the cart : Zoe was lifted in, and the two 
men disappeared before her in the darkness, the torches 
borne by them leaving a faint brownness in the sur- 
rounding black. They went off at a good walking pace, 
holding their unavailing torches high before them. 
The road was very bad, deep ruts, half-moistened, so 
that they did not break down, but offered grease to the 
travellers, ran along it. The wheels at length fell into 
one set, and the cavalcade went steadily forward. 
The slightest deviation from the middle of the road 
started the cart rattling thunderously : on each 


144 Zo'e the Dancer 

occasion the patient horse managed to settle the 
wheels into the ruts again. Zoe could hear the men’s 
voices rumbling forward. Their conversation, shouted 
round the horse’s head, revealed the carter as a sheep- 
broker. His room, to which the wanderers had strayed, 
was his spring and summer abode, when farmers 
brought lambs and sheep of mutton age for him to sell. 
At times, he boasted at the top of his voice, he was 
fortunate enough to deal in valuable ewes and rams, 
whose destination was not the shambles. He detailed 
at a roar the different brokerages he received. His 
route into the town led past the canal and the slaughter- 
house, each indicated by insufferable odours to the 
passenger in the cart. The higher ground of the city 
escaped much of the fog. The horse’s head showed 
itself, desolately nodding: Zoe could perceive her 
guides plodding in front. Houses loomed on either 
side. The procession stopped, Zoe scrambled out, 
opened her lips to give her charioteer a civil and 
grateful good-bye, and relapsed into muteness as she 
went off with Wychthwaite. At the corner of her 
road she bade him good evening also : he felt dismissed, 
shook hands calmly enough, hoped she would not suffer 
from her journeying and was gone. Zoe turned away, 
walked past her own door : she was too sore at heart to 
be alone. She went to Lalage’s, working up a pretty 
anger on the way, surprising inoffensive burghers and 
tradesmen by stamping her foot viciously from time to 
time. She arrived quite gay at Lalage’s room. The 
two made a Lucullian feast of apples toasted on bonnet- 
pins at the stove. 

The baby’s health, character, looks, gurgles and 


Zoe the Dancer 145 


deliciousness were fully described and gushed over; 
Claire’s pretty house, its position, architecture, furniture, 
hangings, windows, garden, conservatory and tennis 
court all pictured : her husband, servants, gowns, 
taste, talent and appetite all carefully sketched; the 
density, dampness, chill, blackness and extent of the 
fog narrated: the difficulties of journeying in such 
circumstances and the terrifying experience of losing 
one’s way set forth. 

But never a word of Wychthwaite. 

“ You must have some pluck, Zozo,” Lalage said, “ to 
go alone. I shouldn’t dare. I’d have wanted Cassis,” 

“ Humph,” said Zoe, “ a man’s no good when you’re 
lost.” 

“ I’d rather be lost with a man than alone, anyway,” 
Lalage decided. 

Zoe went home, her indignation against the offending 
swain very pleasantly restored hy the fog, and seething 
within her. She slammed herself into her room and 
kicked her bonnet box as though that had got lost with 
her in the fog, or had been the cause of it. 

A note was brought to her by Peggy. It had arrived 
some time before and an answer had been required. If 
a reply were to go now, Peggy, wholly sober, would take 
it. The writing was strong and black. She opened the 
envelope gingerly, her natural distrust of letters to the 
fore, Peggy staring, in unaccustomed abstention, with all 
her wits about her, saw the sulky look die out of her face. 

“ Zoe, Zoe, Zoe, I must tell you how I love you. I 
didn’t dare to when we were alone lest you should think 
me a cad. I love you, I love you, I love you. Write 
to me.” 

K 


146 Zo'e the Dancer 


That was its whole length. In the few lines, Zoe read 
her Paradise. She took her pen. What words surged 
in her heart were too sacred for her to write, only to 
him they might be said, only when love itself should be 
hers might she tell him what happy thoughts were in 
her heart that night. 

“ I am glad you wrote, glad,” was all she sent by way 
of answer. Hot angels rested more peacefully than she, 
nor when she woke were the blessed happier in the 
night watches. 


Chapter XVI 

eschews monotony 

L OYE itself is such a business that all the 
world is set to helping in it, once it is 
started. If you will believe us, the whole of 
Brussels had been spring-cleaned in the night. 
The fog still held, but there was something particularly 
beautiful and mysterious about it, and the very clam- 
miness of it had been transmuted by what we are not 
poets enough to call the Alchemy of Love, into a state 
as sweet as the sun’s warmest kiss on the very loveliest 
day of May. 

Zoe had scarcely finished her toilet, and read her 
letter of overnight seventeen times, when Madame 
Plisse brought her another note. It was in his hand, 
and, like the former, required an answer. Would she 
meet him ! She laughed to think that he needed an 
answer for that : though, as she sat with her face in 
the paper he had sent, she realised that it would be 
very nice for him to hear from her this morning. But 
there were hours to overcome before she could reach 
the hour, and she started out to the tryst forty-five 
minutes too soon, thinking that if she delayed she 
might not live so long. In the damp, foggy Park she 
found a solace, for she loved walking, and the weather 
could never deter her. She found a solace and, of 
course, him. He had had no special fears about not 
living till the moment of seeing her, but he had found 

147 


148 Zo'e the Dancer 


the time inordinately long to spend at his work, and 
had come out in order to be able to think freely. He 
was well on in that exercise when she abruptly put 
a ban on all coherency by appearing out of the lessen- 
ing fog. They had not known of each other’s nearness, 
and they were both as guilty as if they had been 
caught at larceny. He was the franker, she the more 
at ease. Their hands met, and he found speech. 

“ How I was thinking of you ! ” 

She put up her veil and showed a smiling face — she 
could not help the smile, but he was too blind to read 
in it the message that her heart had to give. “ I was 
not expecting to meet you,” she said. 

“ I was hoping,” he stammered. He waited for her 
to admit the same thing, while she waited for him to 
tell her he knew she had been hoping. He lacked the 
courage and subtlety her love demanded, and'she went, 
as did he, unsatisfied. At this point a Park-keeper 
loomed up, and Zoe reclaimed her hand, which she had 
left him, but with which he apparently did not know 
how to deal. When the man had passed, she expected 
him to take it again, but he only looked his desire, and 
they set out to walk side by side. Conversation 
was limited to his disjointed remarks and her timid 
answers. 

“ Only ‘ Yes,’ ” he burst out at length. “ Is that an 
answer to a love-letter, Zoe ? ” 

The question had troubled her since morning, and 
she was quite prepared for the remonstrance. “It is a 
very good answer,” she had meant to say, and now, 
without any air of pre-arrangement, she murmured, 
“ It is a very good answer, I think.” 


Zo'6 the Dancer 149 


Certainly he was prepared for no such defence, and 
he rejoiced at the surprise. It brightened him into 
more strength. “ If you will always say it ! ” 

“You’d find that monotonous,” she felt bound to 
reply, feeling a little unsure of herself as he gained 
courage. 

“Wait till you hear what I ask,” he said, and with- 
out any further palaver, lest he should lose his strong- 
hold of coherent speech, he went on, “ I have a string 
of questions to which you must say ‘ Yes.’ It is the best 
answer, the best of all answers ! ” 

“ I must go home,” she said after this advance. 

“ When you’ve answered, not before. Do you love 
me ? Yes ! ” he broke off in the catechism he had 
promised her, to take the full sweetness out of this. 
She did not interrupt. They came to the Park gates. 
“ Oh, Zoe, soon,” he sighed, taking her little hand again. 

The Place was noisy ; they could hear chaffering, 
shouts, angry voices, uncouth laughter. She let her 
lover lead her back inside the gates for a moment. 
“ Yes,” she whispered. 

How bold that made him! He stooped to her, 
releasing her hand that he might take all. Like a 
shred of the mist she escaped him, and he heard her 
laughing “ No 1 ” above the sound of the trafficking 
outside. 


Chapter XVII 


recounts^ inter alia^ the unnecessary gentlemanliness of a 
certain ^person, hereafter to he discredited for other reasons 

I T is questionable whether it is well to be silent 
when Love is king of one’s bosom. Zoe had 
long since made up her mind as to her course 
of action if ever she should fall in love. It 
was, never to breathe a word about it; whereas no 
sooner had the affair been broached than she ran full- 
tilt for Lalage, and out came everything. 

Kisses, embraces, screams, tears, sighs, murmurs, 
nods, becks, and wreathed smiles were the accompani- 
ment Lalage played to Zoe’s sweetly told tale. Not the 
beloved himself could be more moved by the telling. 
Lalage was all tears and laughter, holding Zoe’s hand, 
patting her cheek, stroking her hair, applauding, groan- 
ing, striking chords on her heartstrings, major or minor 
as the melody demanded. She insisted on hearing 
some passages again. That was very nice of her : Zoe 
was dying to retell them, to go over all of it once more. 
And joy of joys, Lalage was as indefatigable. 

So out came the whole affair : what he had said first, 
how she had put him off ; his answer, her retort ; his 
sad look (0, so sad, Lalage !) her relenting ; his boldness, 
her cool denial; his abasement, her graciousness; his 
humble advances, her dignified tenderness ; his protes- 
tation, her implication of doubt; his horrified re- 
monstrance, her polite interest ; every atom of it, until 


Zo'e the Dancer 


151 


his Complete Establishment and her Entire Subjugation. 
Oh ! the joy of retelling ! Oh, the ecstasy of going over 
it again ! Oh, the exalted frenzy of weaving into the 
story clever things you didn’t think of at the time but 
wished you had ! Oh, the perfect delight of inventing 
for him the answers he ought to have made if you had 
said the things you didn’t think of saying until hours 
after ! Oh, the radiant glory of crying at all the sad 
parts again until your eyes are nearly not pretty and 
your handkerchief a wet, wet ball ! 

All such pleasure man is denied. Love tenanting 
his bosom is a dumb thing : and uninventive for the 
matter of that. Wychthwaite told none of his clever 
sayings to any man. 

Zoe shook herself to rights, gave a cheerful dab at 
her weepy eyes, a last tender hug to Lalage, and made 
to go. 

“ But, darling,” said Lalage. 

“ Well, my Lalage ? ” 

“ You’ve forgotten ” 

“ Forgotten ? ” 

“ To say who^ 

“ Who what ? ” inquired she ex nuhibus. 

“ Who he is,” urged she in terra. 

Zoe laughed joyously in her cloud abode. “Why, 
you know, you goose.” 

“ I don’t,” said Lalage, “ but I can guess.” 

“ Of course you can, silly.” 

“ Pian-piano,” Lalage suggested stoutly, hoping very 
much that she was wrong, and hoping greatly that she 
wasn’t. 

Zoe came out of the clouds with a thud. “Pian- 


152 


Zo'e the Dancer 


fiddlesticks ! ” she commented with a toss of the head. 
“ It’s Mr Wychthwaite.” ^ 

Lalage’s heart gave one great leap into her mouth ; 
she gazed in mournful distrust at Zoe.” 

“ Are you sure you love him ? ” she asked, wistfully, 
for the fifteenth time that afternoon, but the first with 
any meaning. 

‘‘With all my heart,” Zoe said. Lalage turned her 
gaze away, asked no more questions, desired no more 
confidences. She saw Zoe out, watched her trip along 
the murky highway and disappear into the town without 
a word. Love’s glamour, till lately candescent within 
her heart, had faded to extinction at the pronouncing 
of the name. 

I hope he’s good, she thought a hundred times. I 
expect he is. If he isn’t, she’s bound to make him 
so. I don’t know anything against him. I hate 
him ! 

He’s been awfully good to Cassis. I’ll say that 
for him. 

He turned those cads away that night that were 
after me. I’ll say that for him. 

He took no advantage of her in the fog, any man 
might have done. I’ll say that for him. 

He’s behaved like a good honest fellow throughout. 
Gentleman’s the English word. Yes, he’s a gentleman, 
I’ll say that for him. 

But I hate him, hate the sight and sound of him. 
And I’ll never believe she ought to love him 

Having come to which definite conclusion, Lalage 
decided to laud him as highly as possible to the damsel 
interested, preparing in advance some perfectly 


Zoe the Dancer 


153 


nauseating encomiums of his personal looks, manner, 
character and so forth. 

This dose she slyly administered in the course of her 
next interview. Alack ! the poison was already so 
powerful that Zoe took the dose without turning a 
hair, and waited for more. Lalage provided it. 
Eulogy, adulation, flattery, and panegyric flowed from 
her lips with reference to the parhelion. Zoe was in the 
seventh heaven of delight. Far from being disgusted, 
she became more and more content as the recital went 
on. Lalage perceived it, astounded ; she had miscal- 
culated the reception Zoe would give such rhetoric. 
She stopped. Zoe sighed long and happily. Every 
dismal exaggeration had seemed to fall far short of the 
dear object’s deserts ; it had, however, gladdened her 
intensely to hear him so richly described. 

She was to be married quite soon. The fiery lover 
would not hear of delay. Lalage learnt of the arrange- 
ment with a mixture of feelings ; it reassured her, and 
yet she was dismayed. 

“ You don’t know his family,” she demurred feebly. 

“ I’m marrying him,” Zoe retorted. 

“ Can he afford to keep you ? ” she asked, slyly. 

“He keeps a carriage,” Zoe proudly commented. 
“ Of course he can afford.” 

Lalage pursued her questions with laudable zeal into 
every nook and cranny of her subject. Zoe’s triumphant 
answers she met with a sniff. 

“ My guardian,” Zoe remarked, “ will see to all 
settlements.” 

Your guardian, thought Lalage. H’m. She forbore 
inquiry. 


154 


Zo'e the Dancer 


To this brand-new officer, Miss Caxe proceeded to 
send her ardent swain. She wished with all her loving 
heart to behave honestly towards her lover. All that 
was known of her should become his knowledge The 
lamentably ordinary origin she boasted met with 
approval for the first time; better, she hehll it, to 
go poor but honest to him than with a blot on her 
scutcheon. She assured him that they were not 
“ engaged ” until he knew all about her. 

“ After you do,” she remarked primly, “ you can come 
to me and ask me, if you still want to. If not, don’t 
come.” You may suppose all that he said in reply. 
Protest how he might, her scruples were not to be 
overcome. No embrace was to be his, no cheek should 
blush beneath his burning lips until he had obtained 
information. He wanted to start at the instant. They 
parted always on unequal terms, he declaring himself 
indissolubly bound to her, she claiming entire temporary 
freedom. 

There was but little love making. He became 
sentimental. She checked the mood. When he 
walked home with her he asked in the quiet street to 
kiss her. She denied him the privilege firmly, believing 
that it wasn’t nice. Verbal resistance served her, he 
went, unkissed, away. 

“ Have you ever,” she asked indifferently of Lalage, 
“ allowed Cassis to kiss you ? ” 

“ What do you think ? ” Lalage asked in return. 

“I don’t think its right,” Zoe said, taking her 
literally, “ to kiss a man before you’re married to him.” 

Lalage vouchsafed no nswer save a blank and 
incredulous stare. 


Zoe the Dancer 


155 


“ I don’t, really,” said Zoe, firmly. 

“Doesn’t Thingemy kiss you ?” inquired her astonished 
interlocutor. 

“ Of course not, Lalage.” 

“ How on earth did you prevent ” the girl ventured 

to begin. 

“ Told him I wouldn’t.” 

“ And didn’t he try 1 ” 

“ Certainly not.” 

Lalage’s inquest came to an abrupt end. She did 
not know how to take such astounding statements. 
Her expression of bewildered scorn did not escape Zoe, 
who read in it Lalage’s contempt of such dull and 
respectable goings-on. She began to wish Wychthwaite 
were not quite so gentlemanly, but when he would have 
erred, she ordered him back. 

“ You must,” her edict became, “ go straightway to 
my guardian.” 

She wrote a letter to that great Panjandrum, and the 
lover went his ways. 


Chapter XVIII 

explains a girVs reasons 


F or she had, in spite of all the conditions she 
was now pleased to make, committed her- 
self by that “ Yes ” in answer to his “ Soon ! ” 
He had not failed to return to his cate- 
chism, when they met again, and all the perversity 
which made her interpolate a “ Ho ! ” here and there 
could not recall that happy affirmative that had promised 
her to him. Whenever he cried out against this 
apostasy she was ready to tell him that she needed as 
much time as he did. 

“But I need none ! ” he protested vainly. 

“ I will give you time,” she replied. “ I need it.” 

She set herself, when she could think sensibly, a 
severe self-examination, and professed to search the 
recesses of her heart and mind (as if, bless you I her 
mind entered into the matter at all). Reason and 
calculation had no place in her being during that period 
of supposed consideration. Her heart was the only 
member assailed, and the most rigorous inquisition 
therein had only served to confirm her in her resolve to 
act as impulse had at first bidden her. It was her first 
incursion into the garden of love, and she pretended to 
linger at the gate, asking herself why she loved him. 
Timid dove ! her self-scrutiny led to nothing. She 
found refuge from all her own searching questions in 
her woman’s “ Because I do ! ” The thronging crowd 

156 


Zoe the Dancer 


157 


of her friends had all their little quota, but she was 
happy in not hearing their reasons. If they chose to 
arch eye-brows over the wonder of her accepting him, 
they spared her. “ A position,” the late Miss Tauzy 
thought, and Joseph was of her mind. Pian-piano con- 
jectured that it must be for money — all the English are 
millionaires. Amalia had the grace to see the real answer 
written in Zoe’s bright eyes. Lalage, who worried about 
it more than anyone, held it lamentable lack of judg- 
ment, but she was thoroughly put down by Cassis, 
whose opinion, the only favourable one among the men, 
was as follows : “ The most noble gentleman in a nation 
of noble gentlemen.” He was the only one, we say, 
among the men who liked him even slightly, but you 
don’t presume to quote that to us, do you ? 

He was exceedingly handsome — every woman who 
saw him admitted that — some too readily. In face, in 
figure and mien, he was all that the most sesthetic 
critic could desire. Hyperion’s curls — you know the 
rest, to say nothing of .his beard. That of itself was 
enough to take the heart out of Zoe’s bosom ; you will 
remember how she described it to herself in the fog. 

He was rich, as Pian-piano urged, wealthy if you will ; 
not that such a fact would of itself weigh much in the 
love-balance of our girl ; she had refused a competency 
with a husband attached before now ; it is true that 
this was much more than a competency, so join it to 
the foregoing reason and carry on the addition. 

His social position was of the highest, and he was, 
so it appeared, a gentleman. Zoe would have asked 
for nothing more, nor indeed would she have taken 
less. He was, furthermore, kind and considerate, and 


158 Zoe the Dancer 


on a certain displeasing occasion he had championed 
her cause very successfully — that he had only done so 
when he had recognised her, was unknown to any save 
himself — and on another, the misty one, he had behaved 
as only a true lover would; 

She might have found all these reasons to quote to 
herself, if she had sought long enough. But she 
needed no reasons : her whole answer to all doubts was 
a sweet refrain of three words : “ I love him, I love him, 
I love him ! ” Once said, it outweighed everything. 

As for why he should marry her — since that question 
was not unasked by the captious — ah, come now, 
wouldn’t we all have married her a thousand times over 
and blessed our stars for such high destiny ? 


Chapter XIX 


reports an unseemly incident at the Fraternity ^ and the 
pusillanimity of the Brothers 


T he little haven of meditation at her rooms 
was, Zoe was glad to find, unoccupied 
by Peggy. That attendant fay had been 
absent for thirty-six hours ; prior to that, 
irregularities in her attendance had been noted. Non- 
appearance on one day was consistently followed by 
dulness of wit on her return : Zoe did not attribute it 
to illness, as Peggy fondly believed. Alcoholic excess 
was the cause of her defection, and every one knew it. 

Persuasion did much to avert these crises, threats 
somewhat also, hut Peggy’s demon recurrently 
triumphed : less often, it is true, but not less thoroughly. 
After a bout of sixty hours, the dresser would rejoin 
her friends on the highlands of virtue, climbing by 
degrees from the sloughs of vice. She would make 
excuses in plenty; they were disregarded. Eeasons 
she sometimes gave : they were received in silence. 
No reproach, no reproof met her when, orgies over, she 
came back to the reputable circle of her acquaintance. 
Eeproof she might have withstood, but the coldness 
with which Zoe met her was nonplussing. It never 
lasted for more than two days: on the third, Peggy 
would be reinstated as dresser to her adored lady, and 
Zoe would be persuading her to seemlier ways. 

A life-long habit is not easily conquered at the age 


160 Zoe the Dancer 


of fifty-five. Peggy struggled earnestly, trying to 
overcome her Apollyon. Delicious temptations in the 
ethereal form of alcoholic odours floating from hotel- 
bars and dingy taverns assailed her in every road, 
for, as you know, Brussels drinks on the public pave- 
ment. Exquisite airs, compounded of the choicest 
vintages, brews and spices, titillated her nose, as she 
passed the non-struggling, imbibing in mid-day the 
luscious beverages that exhaled that bouquet. 

Great grievances were Peggy’s. Her sole surviving 
relative has risen, if not to eminence, at least to re- 
spectable worth, in the practice of religion. Neither 
she nor he was aware that all of his prestige was due 
to the well-marked contrast between his undoubted 
piety and the feelings of the public figure of the drunken 
lady. He really thought his share of greatness was 
personal. Alas for ambition, even that of an humble 
friar. Brother Kobert wore the white flower of a 
blameless life to the title of “ drunken Peggy’s 
brother.” 

It is the unfortunate lot of the veracious historian to 
present this lady in no favourable light. She possessed 
none of those charms by which you enslave us, 
mesdames. No bright eyes, no slender waist was hers. 
Her eyes rolled monotonously in her head, when 
potations triumphed ; as to her waist nothing was 
definitely known ; observing her dispassionately, you 
could not help wondering whether she were wider from 
side to side or from back to front. 

Brother Eobert, in spite of their near relationship 
did not love this lady. It was his only sin. He 
declared roundly that she was a disreputable creature 


Zoe the Dancer 


161 


and had not been contradicted. He had acquired during 
his novitiate and training some vague gentility — not a 
very great amount, it is true, but he was not entirely 
unpolished. Of the gentler social attributes, tact and 
adaptability, his sister was unfortunately devoid, as we 
shall subsequently show. 

Ho lady, qud lady, would chose to have a seizure in 
the cloistered purity of a monastery. This was what 
did. She had come to ask Brother Eobert for 
money, a demand she had made at intervals for five- 
and-twenty years, and with never varying result, 
unmitigated failure. Nevertheless Hope sprang eternal 
in her breast: and, with a perseverance which, con- 
sidered in the abstract, was extremely laudable, she 
returned whenever she might to the charge. Brother 
Luke’s vigilance was usually sufficient to keep her 
out, but on this occasion he was a victim to hay-fever. 

He had muffied his active nose in a square of rasping 
blue cotton, his head retiring as far as possible into 
his tunic, and had opened the door without reserve In 
bundled the lady, basket, umbrella, odour of spirits, and 
all. Brother Luke, realising the heinousness of his 
offence, shot straightway into his own cell, and, not 
daring to think, had locked himself in. The triumphant 
entrant politely closed the door behind her, a duty that 
should have been Brother Luke’s, and betook herself at 
her own sweet caprice along the vestibule to the 
cloisters. The paralysed porter, somewhat restored in 
wits, came out of his burrow and hurried after her. 
She met her saturnine brother : he scoffed at her plea 
for monetary aid, and expressed the brutal opinion that 
she was not sober. 

L 


162 


Zoe the Dancer 


“ Who let her in ? ” asked Brother Kobert, returning 
from gardening. 

“ Brother Luke, I suppose,” said one of the Brothers, 
whom she had picked up like a comet and swept into 
her orbit on her passage through the cloisters. She 
raised her voice in cajolery. Several other Brothers, 
hearing the unaccustomed sound of that excellent 
thing in woman echoing through their celibate cloisters, 
gathered excitedly about. 

“ Let Brother Luke put her out, then,” said Brother 
Eobert, with an air of having once and for all done with 
her. She raised her voice still higher. 

“’Tis a scandal,” said Brother Job. 

“ It is indeed,” agreed Brother Simon. 

“ It will be,” prophesied Brother Jeremiah. 

“ Brother Luke ought to be ashamed of himself,” said 
Brother Armageddon, with terrible severity. 

“ That he ought,” acquiesced Brother Eutychus, but 
he smiled all the same. 

It was just at this juncture that Brother Luke, 
snivelling and irritable, joined the group. They eyed 
him gravely. 

“What do you mean,” said Brother Eobert, on a 
very high horse, “ what do you mean by bringing 
women into the sanctity of our convent life? What 
do you think we will allow you next, Brother Luke ? 
Hey ? ” 

“ Ah, what indeed ? ” said the Brothers, not rhetori- 
cally, but with a view to acquiring knowledge. 

“ Why, she’s your sister,” emphasised Brother Luke. 

“Quite so,” said Brother Eobert. “I do not deny 
it. And if / had let her in, some excuse might be 


Zoe the Dancer 163 


made. A priest may have a sister, I presume, Brother 
Luke?” 

A general murmur applauded this forcible argument. 
The lady smiled at Brother Luke as winningly as she 
could. Brother Eutychus and Brother Simon, between 
whom the unlucky porter had edged himself, drew 
away prudishly, taking good care that their greasy 
tunics should not brush his. Peggy beckoned and 
nodded. 

“You said you^d give me money,” she said coaxingly, 
and made as if to approach him. He found himself in 
the centre of a ring of condemning Brothers. She 
took his hand : Brother Luke groaned loudly and fled 
from her, breaking out of the ring and rushing along 
the cloisters, sniffing desperately, his blue handkerchief 
fluttering from him in his headlong flight. 

The affronted lady became hysterical in a dreadfully 
calculating fashion, for while she mopped and mowed, 
screamed, banged with her fists, wept floods of tears, 
and behaved altogether like a distraught Banshee, one 
eye took note of the Brothers’ attitude. This for the 
time was entirely stoical : she persevered, as in other 
matters she was wont to do, relying on two great 
forces, vis et soepe cadendum. Brothers showed signs 
of embarrassment; they opened their mouths to say 
something and closed them again, the thought unspoken ; 
they resembled moribund flsh rather than would-be 
orators. Brother Eutychus stood among his fellows, 
his butcher-blue apron held bag- wise full of carrots ; 
like a young Dis he stood, his apron making a bright 
touch of colour in the group. Peggy made a grab at 
him. Flat went Brother Eutychus, like his better- 


164 Zoe the Dancer 


known namesake ; over went the lady, and the carrots 
rolled about them. Brother Kobert picked up his 
Brother, but left his sister. This solitary representa- 
tive of a gentler sex banged with her heels, screamed 
lustily, ground and gnashed her teeth. The door-bell 
rang. Venus imitated its tintinnabulation very credit- 
ably. It rang again. She repeated her performance in 
a louder tone. The bell rang once more. 

“ That coward daren’t come out,” said Brother Eobert. 
“Decoys women into the sanctity of our — ” the bell 
interrupted him very brusquely. “I’d better go,” he 
said, and set out to find the coward, abstract the key, 
and admit the visitor. 

The last was Mr Wychthwaite. Brother Eobert 
took up his card to Brother Frederic, emblazoning it 
on the way with digitographs in grease, and left the 
gentleman meanwhile in a tiny stujffy room off the 
vestibule. From the sound of feminine grief, echoing 
shrilly throughout the cloistered seclusion of the 
monastery, the layman formed his own estimate of 
the Fraternal morals. 


Chapter XX 

contains a had word 


Z OjE’s ladylike script, together with Wych- 
thwaite’s card, was brought to Brother 
Frederic, where he dozed by the stove. 
He sat amazed before it. It revealed to 
him so much effrontery, Zoe’s indubitably, that he was 
puzzled how to take it. Brother Eobert, to whom 
Mother Nature had vouchsafed the treasure of in- 
difference, stood by, waiting for an answer and listening 
to the faint reverberations of his sister's vocal efforts. 

“ I will see the gentleman,” said Brother Frederic, 
at last. “ I will see him here. 

“ Bring him round by the refectory and the back 

stairs and past the dormitory door 

So that he doesn’t see ; you understand 

“ I’ll wait here. 

“ Her guardian ! Well, I’m damned ! ” 


166 


Chapter XXI 

takes us hack into the realm of 'polite prose 


T he itinerary, which Brother Erederic had 
shrewdly suggested for the avoidance of 
the cloisters, actually under gynsecocracy, 
took some time to travel. Wychthwaite 
avoided the Scylla of dubious convention to encounter 
the Charybdis of all the smells the monastery boasted. 
Some militant, some stuffily passive, that merely per- 
mitted inhalation, they hung about the back-stairs and 
refectory, not to mention the dormitory door, which 
allowed egress through its keyhole of some very 
antique atmosphere, and Wychthwaite met with them 
all. 

To avert thought, Brother Frederic had spent the 
interval in trying to pronounce his visitor’s name, 
bringing for that purpose every letter of it into play. 
The marvellous jumble of vocables with which he 
greeted Zoe’s envoy, betrayed the fact that his study 
had been unavailing. 

The interview was short, both gentlemen doing their 
utmost to curtail it. Proceedings were as follows : — 
Wychthwaite stated his own case. Brother Frederic 
stated what he thought might be Zoe’s. Vivid inven- 
tion is not confined to the laity. False representations 
were as thick as smoke. The collocutors then made 
the discovery that each held a brief for Zoe. Brother 

Frederic suggested a blessing, tactfully eliminating 
166 ® 


Zo 'e the Dancer 


167 


much of the piety and inserting social phrase in place 
of it. In the aureole of this hinted benediction our 
lover came away, braving the clustered odours again. 
“ 0 Zoe,” he sighed aloud, when the air was clear 
enough for him to do so, “ how I must love you, my 
little woman ! ” 

Brother Frederic went down to the cloisters. 
Beauty was still prone, from stubborn defiance. 

“ This,” roared Brother Frederic in his richest tone, 
“ this is no gynsecium. Brothers ! Eject this 
woman ! Drive her forth ! Out with her, out ! 
What ! Has my single virtue no power to exorcise 
this she-devil ? ” P^ggy opened her eyes in mute 
reproach at the title. 

“ Begone, Baggage,” he produced in diapason. The 
lady thus adjured sat up, fully prepared for verbal 
skirmish. Brother Frederic disdained to join battle : 
it may be that chivalry prevented him. He gave 
swift orders, recalling vividly, to the reader of history, 
the brilliance and action of Hannibal. Brothers 
hastened to obey ; the group broke up, re-formed. 
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, Peggy found herself 
raised a few inches, let brutally fall, still in a seated 
position, and with incredible swiftness propelled along 
the stone paving. A wooden tray had been placed 
under her and thongs slipped through the handles. 
Progress was hurried. Columns, glyphs, capitals, 
fan-tracery, ogives, mosaics fled past her in a charming 
pot-pourri of architecture and decoration. The street 
appeared cold and unsympathetic. A jolt, a bang, a 
whizz, a silence, and Brother Eobert’s sole female 
relative had been shot on to the pavement : the door 


168 


Zoe the Dancer 


slammed and the monastery stood in impenetrable 
silence. 

Peggy arose, spat thrice with mystic directness into 
the very wicket, and took her charms elsewhere, 
sobered. 

She dressed Zoe that night, fully restored. 

Where have you been ? ” asked Zoe. 

“ Paying a ceremonial call, my dear.” 

I’m leaving the theatre,” was Zoe’s next remark, 
dreamily given. 

Peggy let her jaw fall to its fullest extent. 

“ I’m going to be married,” was the further explana- 
tion. “Very soon.” 

“ I’m to get a new place, then.” 

“ Yes, Peggy.” 

Peggy’s wits were sadly disturbed : she wisely held 
her peace. A pain of sickly tenacity had invaded her 
head, and suggested that spirits alcoholic were the 
authors of this astounding information. There are 
times when the border-line between reality and dream 
is very faint. Diaphanous memories mingled with 
the fiction of the disordered brain ; fumes of past 
potations joined themselves to the faery fabric. In 
mental vistas, Zoe danced unsteadily to the altar with 
Brother Eutychus or Brother Kobert, or herself per- 
formed religious rites with warders of the cells. 
Reason was not proof against such visionary assaults : 
all fact was dissolved in a vapour of imaginings. 

Zoe returned modestly to the subject. “ When I 
am married,” “ after my wedding,” became in an hour 
or two constantly used qualificatives. Everything was 
to be performed prior to that ceremony or was rele- 


Zoe the Dancer 


169 


gated to the days “ after my honeymoon.” The 
formula was monotonously familiar to Peggy ere long. 
Sobriety, intelligence, and realisation returned together. 
She caught the phrase on Zoe’s lips a score of times. 
Preparing her lady’s hair for the dance, she murmured 
aloud — 

“ Always will have things just so, men will. I 
know ’em, the brutes. Think women’s wound up like 
clocks and oughtn’t to go wrong.” 

Zoe dreamed, unpiqued. 

“ I don’t believe these here sayings about marry in 
haste, repent in leisure. Eepent as you marry’s 
what I say, in haste. 

“ I’ve had husbands — buried ’em, thank ’eaven ! 
Husbands ain’t lovers : no one who knew’d make that 
mistake.” 

Zoe heard nothing of the peevish voice. Wych- 
thwaite, god-like and all-glorious, filled her heart and 
mind. 

She danced her nightly whirl, lived her days in 
fond dreams of him. He meantime was not idle. All 
was going apace towards the wedding. 

Guests were bidden, a reception was arranged ; the 
voyage they intended to make later was all planned. 
They were to go by easy degrees to Paris, then stroll 
sightseeing through Europe to Greece, where Wych- 
thwaite had been assigned a post. 

He had offered her a substantial sum to buy her 
trousseau ; she declined it lovingly. Her salary, and 
a gift made up by her friends at the theatre, though 
infinitesimal to him, were together ample for her need. 
Supported by Amalia Campobossi and Martha, she 


170 Zo'e the Dancer 


sallied forth to buy dainty garments. Behind the 
counters impassive men snipped at marvellous stuffs. 
The three pinched each others’ hands in delicious 
agitation. Zoe stood for hours, being pinned, tucked, 
pleated. Bandboxes hovered about Madame Plisse’s 
awkward doorway in continual succession. 

At length all was ready, lace, linen, silk, velvet, 
cloth : things precious and things useful ; some to 
make Zoe lovelier by addition, and some to make her 
more beautiful by contrast. Every one sighed and 
wiped her eyes as she patted the dainty wardrobe 
into place. Every one had a lump in her throat when 
the girl, with blush and tremor, produced the dress 
and veil. 

To-morrow became joy’s date. Twenty-four long 
hours were forced to give way at last. It was to-day. 


Chapter XXII 

is occupied with a solemn rite 


T HEEE was no lack of willing helpers to 
clothe and adorn the bride. Amalia 
fastened the dress ; Lalage draped the 
veil ; Martha read furtively and with the 
dimmest of eyes in the silver-bound prayer-book ; 
Peggy buttoned the shoes and kissed each foot, blub- 
bering noisily the while. 

Below, a group of men waited, Campobossi curled 
and scented ; the manager in a tall hat, white, if you 
please ; Cassis, taking the day off, in all his best, lent 
ear to Madame Plisse’s carnival of woe. 

Never was such a cortege seen ; Joseph, who had 
dressed the hair, not without emotion, ran all ways at 
once, arranging and organising. Now one of the 
women wept, but not seriously ; now one of the men 
laughed, but not heartily. Bustle and confusion 
reigned. 

The bride came down. She was tenderly placed in 
a carriage between her beloved Amalia and her dear, 
kind Martha, with her own sweet Lalage filling the 
seat opposite. 

Campobossi groaned his hatred of Englishmen sotto 
voce. The others that rode with him agreed heartily 
in silence with his grumbles. “ Beastly, hairy Eaw- 
Beef- Eater” was Joseph’s private estimate of the 
bridegroom. 


172 Zoe the Dancer 


The procession reached the church ; foppish youths 
and old elegant men stood about in genteel groups ; 
their fashionableness and their aloofness from partici- 
pation in the service were in great contrast to our 
humbler and more devout party. Zoe’s eyes recog- 
nised in them the pillars of Embassies, British and 
other ; she was content to share the prestige of their 
appearance. A glance at her escort proved them to 
feel the honour of the company. 

There were quiet tears and hidden smiles as Zoe 
became the property of the hirsute Englishman, by 
licence of Holy Church. 

Among the prayers breathed by Lalage that Zoe 
might be happy rose one, more fervent by reason of its 
applicability, that she would not recognise in her 
bridegroom’s best man their late pursuer on the 
Boulevard. It augured ill for the young wife’s 
chances of happiness that that prayer was un- 
answered ; Zoe had recognised, as Lalage had done, 
from the first. She refused to be distressed by the 
discovery, rejecting every doubt of the many that 
thronged to her mind. She even suffered the offender 
to press her hand in congratulation after the blessing ; 
it was delicious to lean on Wychthwaite’s arm, and 
face evil, knowing oneself protected. 

The civil ceremony was sooner over and with less 
emotion. Lalage turned away from the couple after a 
quiet greeting ; Peggy had no place among the gay 
guests ; Lalage joined her as she went off. They 
paraded the streets side by side, silently for more than 
an hour, Peggy too sad to talk, Lalage thinking fear- 
fully of only one thing. Heartsore with the weight 


Zoe the Dancer 


173 


of her discovery, Lalage at last told Peggy all — 
beginning with the chase, and disclosing to her the 
fact that the chief friend at the wedding had been 
this very man. Dismayed at first, Peggy began at 
length to regard the matter more lightly. 

“ Boys will be boys,” she said comfortingly, “ and 
these here aren’t more nor children yet. That very 
fellow’s well your side of thirty, dearie.” 

Lalage shook her head. 

“ Besides, my Miss,” the woman added, “ they ain’t 
got nothing to go with her now. She’s got her man 
to look after her. Nothing like being married, there 
isn’t. You’ll see, he’ll leave off going with such 
friends when she tells him.” 

No ray of comfort shone for Lalage. She found 
the circumstance black, and nothing could brighten it. 
She prayed long and devoutly when night fell, and 
slept at last for very weariness. Peggy in her 
loneliness wept herself to sleep. Her tears were 
inexpressibly bitter. She prayed also, but to Zoe. 
She had gone sober ever since the wedding had been 
announced : from this night, when she sealed a 
great resolve, she was never overcome by drink 
again. 

The bridal pair, boisterously saluted by the elegant 
guests and the earnest guests, lunched and received ” 
at an expensive restaurant. Zoe was elated as she 
observed the respect with which her guests ate and 
drank of the luscious foods set out. The meal over, 
they drove away, sent off in a shower of rice, confetti, 
kisses, sobs, and messages. 

“ Be happy, my love ! ” cried Amalia. 


174 


Zoe the Dancer 


“ Be good to her,” shouted the manager, waving his 
beautiful white pot-hat. 

“ Don’t forget m-m-me,'’ sobbed Martha. 

“ All happiness be thine,” roared Joseph. 

“ Bless you, my child,” intoned Campobossi. And 
Pian-piano, from a position behind every one else, 
bared his teeth, and said, “ Damn that ginger-whiskered 
beast,” loud enough for Campobossi to hear : he shook 
hands with him on the spot. 

The carriage drove away, Mrs Wychthwaite at her 
husband’s side. The day was clear and warm, the car- 
riage went smoothly. Zoe’s heart sang. She wished 
he would call her “ my wife.” Jewell-Brown, the best 
man, had said Mrs Wychthwaite^ and Joseph had 
called her Madame, but here was an opportunity — 
that he did not take. Once or twice he rose to look 
from the window. 

” What is it you hear ? ” asked Zoe. 

“ A horn, I thought,” said he. 

Surely enough Zoe heard it. She said so. Wych- 
thwaite looked out again. 

“ What a lark ! ” he cried. “ Old Jewell-Brown’s 
tooling his drag out here after us. Wonder who else 
is there ! ” 

“ What do they want ? ” Zoe asked, without 
effusion. 

“ Oh, a regular joke, I expect,” he said enthusi- 
astically. “ By George, they are a set ! ” 

He enjoyed his meditations alone. Zoe sat in her 
corner without a word. 


Chapter XXIII 

reveals in what tragic wise Zoe and Brother Frederic 
passed a wakeful nighty and how Wychthwaite slept 


I T was a delicious night, vaguely misty and 
warm. Zoe leaned at the window, meditative. 
She could see the lights of the small windows 
disappear one by one ; at length she was left 
with a single gleam. She watched it anxiously lest 
that also should be extinguished, and she left alone. 
Its glimmer, a mere speck on a fine night, hung 
nebulously circular in the moist air. She occupied 
herself with wondering what kept the villagers up so 
late. Well for the dainty bride that she did not 
know what tragedy was being illumined by that light. 
A man in his dying agony prayed behind the window, 
a priest and a doctor tended him. For days before 
all his family and friends had deserted him because of 
the nature of his malady. Save for the visits of 
priest and doctor, he had been alone. 

The bridegroom tarried. Zoe’s yellow head leaned 
on the jamb of her window, and her mind travelled 
speedily from the mysterious light to her own case. 
A clock struck twelve. Her sentimental mood, 
which she had carefully fostered all the day long, 
oozed away. Impatience succeeded, she became 
annoyed. A second clock struck the midnight hour 
tardily ; she closed her ears to it. She looked around 
the room until she was heartily sick of the prospect, 

175 


176 Zoe the Dancer 


and then returned to her watch in the window. She 
refrained from walking up and down the room, as her 
irritation moved her to do, from a desire to disturb no 
one else. Quietly opening her door, she became 
aware of music ; the noise approached : a man’s voice 
raised in song. Zoe closed the door again. The 
noise grew more distinct, the singer was coming up- 
stairs. Only one voice but many footsteps were 
heard outside the room. Someone knocked ; and she 
opened. A waiter, the boots of the hotel, and the 
proprietor were supporting Wychthwaite in the 
passage : his voice it was she had heard, but their 
footsteps, since he was in no condition to walk. The 
proprietor’s wife held a candle to this scene ; in her 
face Zoe read pity and kindness. The three men 
were grave. Behind the group the wall shone white 
and lustrous ; a crucifix hung thereon, Wychthwaite 
lolled beneath it. 

“ Bring him in,” Zoe said, throwing the door wide. 
The men lifted him again and half-dragged, half- 
carried his crumpled form into the room ; they placed 
him on the bed ; the boots unshod him deftly and 
held the shapely footgear under his arm. Zoe stood 
at the foot of the bed with the proprietress. 

“ Undo his collar,” the woman said. Wychthwaite 
burst into song again as his neck was released ; he 
held out his arms calling for his fairy Zozo. The 
waiter gravely fetched the sponge and a towel, slipped 
the one beneath his head and dabbed the other 
generously over the singer’s face and neck. Wych- 
thwaite, spluttering from the effects of the chill 
douche, attempted playfully to hug the man. He 


Zoe the Dancer 


177 


was pushed back on the bed, and thereupon changed 
his tone, mouthing the vilest words Britain had pro- 
duced up to that date. The Belgians understood him 
more than Zoe, in spite of their ignorance of the 
language. The words and locutions were new to her; 
they sounded unpleasant, but she submitted to them 
unhurt. The men very well knew what kind of 
thing the bridegroom was saying ; the waiter put the 
sponge in his mouth. 

“ Come with me,” said the woman of the house, 
“ Boots will watch.” 

Zoe looked pitifully at her ; the proprietress en- 
circled her waist, trying to draw her away. 

“No, I will watch,” she said, “ I am very much 
obliged to you.” The men went out, after the waiter 
had rubbed Wychthwaite’s head vigorously to prevent 
his catching cold, and left the door open. The woman 
tried to persuade Zoe, but the bride w^as firm. She 
kissed her gently, and indicated the bell-pull, hanging 
by the door. 

“Just a touch of that, my dear,” she said, and 
I will be with you.” 

The sodden bridegroom lay on the outside of the 
bed, fully clothed except for his boots and collar. 
The icy bride stood at the foot, watching him dis- 
passionately. When she turned away, she was dis- 
tressingly agitated ; she returned to her station to 
look at him ; she was wholly disgusted : all other 
feeling was merged in the overwhelming sentiment 
of revulsion. His face was inflamed, the mouth 
working hideously ; his hair was ruffled by the waiter’s 
attentions : he looked greasy and smelt vinous. All 

M 


178 Zo'e the Dancer 


the evil and vice in the man were released by his 
excess ; he betrayed himself at every movement of 
his lips. He lay on his side, looking towards the 
door, ignorant of his wife’s presence ; he chanted a 
part of the marriage service with would-be comic 
intonation ; swore idly, roused himself to be amorous, 
hiccoughed his love for his nimble-toed Zozo. Zoe 
watched him quietly until he slept. She had never seen 
anyone drunk like this ; Peggy’s orgies led to stupor, 
she never reviled or hiccoughed before Zoe. Brussels 
has never been noted for that kind of vice ; its young 
men are not often intemperate to such an extent ; it 
was a distinction of the younger members of the 
British colony that they drank harder (and were 
more frequently found intoxicated) than the despised 
Belgians. 

Zoe realised that his gay friends must have followed 
them out and, after their evening meal and her retire- 
ment, joined him to celebrate the happy day. She 
decided devoutly that a far-seeing Providence must 
have directed him to the cup, that he might reveal 
himself in his true light to the waiting bride. 

He was not a fair sight. She brought forth her 
crucifix from her bag and gazed on that, fell on her 
knees and earnestly prayed. Never had she felt so 
much the need of heavenly aid ; she turned in her 
weary despair to her saints. Every word of her prayer 
was fraught with meaning ; she poured out the bitter- 
ness and the loneliness of her heart, and comfort came 
to her on the wings of hope. She was respited for a 
while. 

Bodily exhaustion overcame her ; she dozed as she 


Zoe the Dancer 179 


knelt. Waking, she drew an armchair quietly before 
the window and a small chair at its foot, meaning in 
that temporary bed to spend what remained of the 
night. She pulled some of the bedclothes from beneath 
her sleeping consort ; he was thrown violently over 
into the middle of his couch. The shock aroused him ; 
he managed to struggle into a sitting position, supported 
by arms outstretched as flying buttresses ; from this 
situation he exhorted Zoe, who had retired to the foot 
of the bed again, to help him up. The effort at 
coherent speech was too great for him, he succumbed 
to his weakness, and Zoe from her further refuge on her 
improvised couch heard him vomiting feebly. She 
wrapped herself in the blanket she had taken, opened 
the window and rested. Short dozes were broken by 
the fear of his presence or by the noise he made, 
snoring, swearing or weakly giving way to the effects 
of his potations. He could not see her ; the solid 
wood of the bed-foot formed a complete screen. He 
threatened to come after her, apostrophising the door, 
by which he thought she had fled. More than once he 
made as if to get off the bed to search for her, but he 
had not tlie strength. 

Zoe at every awakening looked towards the light 
that bore her sad company from the distant village. 
From that window also. Brother Frederic looked forth, 
wearied in flesh and spirit by his long vigil at the side 
of the moribund, and in his turn wondered who it 
might be that watched all night at Laeken. In the 
early hours of the new day, his charge died. The 
priest and doctor remained to prepare the body for 
burial; they performed their last duty to the dead 


180 Zo’e the Dancer 


man whom none dared approach save themselves. 
There was no returning to the city before day ; the 
doctor’s trap was at the inn and the horse needed rest. 
The doctor settled to sleep. Brother Frederic prayed 
for the newly departed soul, and occasionally looked at 
the lighted window. 


Chapter XXIV 

shows Churchy MedicinCy and Stage all of one mind 

T he first sign of morning in the sky set Zoe 
acting. She washed herself quietly in 
the fresh water that had stood before the 
window all night, and slipped into her 
dress. As she hooked it all the way down to her 
slender waist, she gazed her fill at Wychthwaite, 
rumpled and unclean in the centre of the bed. Still 
regarding him closely, she put on her bonnet and 
cloak, veiled herself thickly, and taking her bag in 
hand, went cautiously forth. No one was astir in the 
house ; the four assistants at her tragedy of the night 
had sat long to discuss her unhappy lot, and the 
proprietress had waked still later, listening for the 
bell ; as a consequence, everyone slept longer. Zoe 
could hear, as she passed the stables, men at work 
within : but she dared not ask for a carriage ; she 
wanted to get away unseen. Wychthwaite should ask 
in vain, when he set out to find her. No one should 
be able to tell him at Laeken, whither she had 
fled. 

She trod the dark road without fear : vague lights 
appeared in the sky but none yet illuminated the 
path she followed. In convent days, she had often 
come this way on the feast of Mary, with wagon- 
loads of jocund girls. She knew the road to be long 

m 


182 Zoe the Dancer 


and wearisome. She trod it briskly. She had walked 
for half an hour when she heard a light carriage 
coming behind her. Already the day had strengthened 
to a twilight. She could distinguish that it was a 
high cart with one horse and that it bore two men. 
She meant to hide until it passed, but the pale - light 
showed her Brother Frederic’s rotund form. She 
stepped forward and held up her hand ; the doctor 
who was driving drew up, Zoe put back her veil and 
asked to be given a ride. Brother Frederic eyed her 
in astonishment ; she was helped in and wedged 
between the stout physician and the stouter priest, 
who gathered his wits sufficiently to introduce the 
newcomer to his friend. The presentation made, 
they sat in silence, Zoe held her peace for a while, but 
she felt the need of advice. She looked at the doctor 
round the edge of her Leghorn bonnet, decided that he 
was good, and told her story without preamble. 
Neither man said a word : each was accustomed to 
recitals of every sort. Zoe spoke without tears, 
without indignation ; the question that troubled her, 
and which her story led up to, was this : 

“ Need I go back to him ? ” When she arrived at 
it she hesitated. It was tremulously spoken. 

Brother Frederic looked at the Cathedral stand- 
ing beautiful and calm in the morning light 
above the city. A religious marriage ? ” he 
queried. 

“ Yes,’^ said Zoe. 

“ Then you ought to go back to him,” said Brother 
Frederic. “ The Church demands it,” 


Zoe the Dancer 


183 


“ A civil marriage, too, you said ? ” suggested the 
Doctor, and his eye was fixed on the new Palace of 
J ustice standing as solemn and glorious as the 
Cathedral over the town. 

“ Yes,” said poor doubly-married Zoe. 

“ Then you must go back to him,” declared the 
Doctor. “ The Law commands it.” 

Silence followed these appalling verdicts. Zoe 
looked in turn at the Church and at the Law : the 
town was dominated by them. She felt her chain and 
it galled her. 

“ I won’t,” she flatly produced at last, so definitely 
that the Doctor, the Priest and the horse were all 
startled. 

“That’s right, my child,” said Brother Frederic, 
involuntarily. “ Don’t you^ 

“ You shan’t,” cried the Doctor at the same moment. 
The Cathedral and the Palace of Justice hid their 
affronted heads from them as they drove into the 
outskirts of the town. They went to the Fraternity. 
Brother Frederic clambered out. 

“ Get out,” he commanded, “ come in with 
me.” 

The Doctor was at a loss. 

“ There’s nowhere else,” the Brother urged. HeTl 
search everywhere but the Monasteries, see if he 
doesn’t. Out you jump.” 

Zoe pressed the Doctor’s hands gratefully, lifted her 
veil again and showed her lovely pale face in an 
improvised aureole of Leghorn straw, and jumped 
down. Brother Frederic led her to his own office 


184 


Zo'e the Dancer 


and cell, gave her the key on the inside, brought her 
refreshment and went kindly away. 

Thus for the second time in the course of this 
history, the walls of the Fraternity shelter a woman’s 
tears. 


Chapter XXV 

depicts Lay and Clergy at variance 


B russels was truly ransacked the next day. 

Wychthwaite and his companions of the 
carouse overnight, blades from the Embassy, 
sought in every quarter for the delinquent 
bride. They ventured within the severe portal of St 
Nytouche’s ; Wychthwaite sat on the very chair from 
which Madame Cari-P^de had once risen at Zoe’s 
refusal to marry Bertrand. 

Jewell-Brown, fluent of French, waxed grandilo- 
quent to Sister Superior on the subject of a bride’s 
duty. She acquiesced in his views, and was loud in 
her anger against the vanished lady. Kindness for 
the bereft husband shone in her eye, which glowed 
with indignation when she thought of the dreadful 
girl. Church and Law might lightly be defied, but 
Sister Superior never. She sent a polite note to 
Brother Frederic by one of the burly servant girls, 
requesting his instant presence to support and counsel 
her. 

He left Zoe to the care of the whole Brotherhood, 
every man jack of whom concurred with him in 
shielding her. 

He knew very well why he was sent for. 

Sister Superior, Mr Jewell- Brown and the despon- 
dent husband gave him the story in shreds. Two of 

18^ 


186 Zoe the Dancer 


his interlocutors, not the holy woman, showed every 
sign of having been participators in a recent orgie. 
The tale ran somewhat thus. 

An eager passionate bridegroom had found, in the 
stead of his glowing bride, a dutiless and glacial woman. 
A night passed in vain obsecrations for a caress finished, 
for the weary and heart-broken groom, in sleep, whence 
he had awoken, to find that the wretched girl had fled. 

“ That bride,” said Sister Superior, “ that wicked 
bride. Brother Frederic, was the girl we knew of old 
as Zoe Caxe.” 

“ You don’t mean to say so,” ejaculated our Priest, 
his gaze fixed on the sodden features of the brideless 
consort. “ And she is now Mrs ? ” 

“ Wychthwaite, sir,” said that indignant gentleman. 

“ Aha,” said Brother Frederic. “You are the gentle- 
man, I believe, Mr . You must excuse me, but 

I fear, I very much fear, I cannot pronounce your 
name — who came to me with reference to Miss 
Caxe?” 

“I did.” 

And where,” pursued the Jesuit, “ where is the 
lady now ? ” 

“ That’s the very thing we want to know,” Sister 
Superior said. 

Brother Frederic became encouraging : he begged 
to be told, most coaxingly assuring them that he 
wouldn^t repeat it if they’d rather not, they really 
might trust him. 

“ I tell you we don’t know,” said Mr Jewell- 
Brown. 


Zo'e the Dancer 


187 


‘‘She must be found,” the Brother gave as his 
opinion, sententiously, “ before you can compel her to 
live with you.” 

Only Sister Superior appreciated this opinion. 
Wychthwaite looked as black as ever. 

The Church demands her return,” Brother 
Frederic declared, sonorously. “ The Law com- 
mands it.” 

“Very apt,” said Sister Superior. 

“ You have been married since ” 

“ Yesterday,” said Wychthwaite. 

“ And (you must pardon me, but I wish sincerely 
to help the chief sufferer in this unhappy business) 

Wychthwaite bowed. 

“ And, why did she marry you ? For money, no 
doubt.” 

“ For love,” stormed the husband. 

“ You amaze me,” said the Brother. “ Tut, tut ! 
Why should she wish to escape your natural caresses, 
your devotion, if she married you for love ? I appre- 
hended that the exhibition of such marks of affection 
(accordant concomitants of the marriage state) was 
commendable and expected, when mutual attachment 
of parties was the case.” 

“ Did you ? ” commented Wychthwaite in his native 
tongue. 

“ Very right,” said Sister Superior. 

“ What is a man to do ? ” asked Jewell-Brown. 

“ Find the lady,” said Brother Frederic. 

“ Where ? ” asked Sister Superior, rhetorically it 


188 


Zm the Dancer 


would appear, as no one so far as she knew was 
possessed of the answer. 

“ How ? ’’ more pertinently asked Mr Jewell-Brown. 

“ Find the lady and make her explain herself,” said 
the Brother. “ I am a celibate, I know nothing 
about such things ” 

“ Very correct,” murmured Sister Superior. 

“But I know, sir,” continued the Brother, with 
increasing severity, “ that had I a sister, or did I 
know of any decent girl who fled from her husband 
in a love-marriage on the second day of her wedded' 
life, I should suspect some other reason than any the 
loving bridegroom would choose to give.” 

The loving bridegroom exhorted looked puzzled. 

“ If I doubted her mor ” he began. 

“If you doubted,” shouted the infuriated cleric. 
“ You dare ! You dare to doubt ! Doubt, I say ! 
Ha ! ” And he accompanied this outburst with so 
menacing a gesture that his listeners shrank back. 

“ Neither you nor any person shall criticise that 
unfortunate lady in my hearing,” the Brother went 
on. “ Her education, which was effected in this very 
asylum and in the unremitting care of this saintly 
woman and her able assistants, has better fitted 
Miss Caxe to resist the temptations of a secular 
life ” 

“ Very true,” said Sister Superior. 

“ Than have,” thundered the Brother, “ than have 
the continual debauchery and intemperance with 
which you, sir, have been indulged ! You are a 
drunkard, sir ! You are natural son to the Father 


Zoe the Dancer 189 


of Lies, sir, and you are come into your patri- 
mony, sir ! You are a very Daemon, sir ! Last 
night you went to your waiting bride in the care of 
three men. You passed that sacred night in lewd 
song and swinish sleep ! Leave this convent ! Out 
with you from these chaste walls ! Dare no longer 
to pollute the air of this vestal edifice ! ” 

Mr Jewell-Brown stood firm ; Wychthwaite opened 
the door. 

“ You wretched old turkey-gobbler,” he said to 
Brother Frederic — that was the very term he used — 
“ Where is my wife ? ” 

“ Where no one who casts aspersions on her shall 
intrude,” said Brother Frederic, panting after his 
burst of impassioned oratory. 

Sister Superior indicated the door. “ Go out,” she 
frowned, “ unless you want my Sisters to throw you 
out.” 

With no more formal leave-taking than this, they 
went forth ; and Sister Superior sent up a prayer of 
thankfulness for her delivery from them, as though 
the Arch-Fiend had for the nonce multiplied himself 
by two for the purpose of doubly assailing her. 

Brother Frederic mopped his head and seated him- 
self. “ I will, if I may, rest a little, my Sister,” he 
remarked. 

“ Where is she ? ” Sister Superior coldly inquired. 

“ Where no one who casts aspersions on her shall 
intrude,” the Brother answered blandly. “ Away from 
those ruffians.” 

The ruffians meanwhile stopped the first priest they 


190 


Zoe the Dancer 


met : one from the very seminary which hated 
Brother Frederic so candidly. This obliging person, 
on hearing a description of the good man’s attire, gave 
careful directions as to the position of the Fraternity, 
even going to the corner of the road to point the 
way. Thither straightway went bridegroom and best 
man. 

Brother Eutychus had taken a delicious tit-bit of 
bread-and-jam and coffee to Zoe’s cell, and was stroll- 
ing easily kitchen- ward, having attained the entrance 
hall, when the terrific onslaught on the door greeted 
him. He hastened to the wicket before the astonished 
Brother Luke could summon enough courage to issue 
from his office with the key, and opening it, recon- 
noitred the wrathful pair of gentlemen. He guessed 
who they were in a twinkling, and lucky it was for 
the girl within that he and not Brother Luke had the 
colloguing with them. 

“Not to-day, thank you,” said Brother Eutychus 
genially, and snapped-to the wicket. 

Wychthwaite thundered once more upon the 
knocker and tore at the bell. Brother Luke stood 
quavering within the office, his nose aflame, his rheumy 
eyes dripping tears of agitation. Brother Eutychus 
looked out again. 

“ Why couldn’t you have come an instant earlier,” 
he inquired, “ when someone else knocked ? ” 

“ Where is Mrs Wychthwaite ? ” said her spouse. 

Brother Eutychus may reasonably be excused 
for not understanding the question. He had 
seen Zoe’s new name written, but never imagined 


Zo'e the Dancer 


191 


it sounded as its male representative roared it from 
the pavement. 

“ If you please ? ” he gently said. 

“ Where is Zoe ? Bring the lady out,” shouted 
Wychthwaite. 

“ Bless me, the gentleman takes me for a nun ! ” 
said Brother Eutychus, coyly. “ This isn’t a nun- 
nery, my good sir. I blush to avow it, but 1 am a 
Brother.” 

Jewell-Brown took up the quest, less furiously. 
“ We want to know, don’t you know, if there’s a lady 
here, eh ? ” said he, as gently as he might. 

“ Dear, dear ! ” said Brother Eutychus, trying to 
blush through the twelve-inch square grating. “ You 
must be a Protestant, sir.” 

Mr Jewell-Brown gave him smile for smile : the 
Brother’s was the more genial. “ May we come in ? ” 
he suggested politely. “It will be easier to explain 
our meaning.” 

“ Most certainly,” said Brother Eutychus. “ I’ll 
find the porter and the key, the Brother who’s got 
charge of the key, you know. I shan’t keep you 
long.” He closed the wicket again and led Brother 
Luke by the hand to the side door which opened on 
to another street. 

“ Oblige me, my dear Brother,” he urged him, “ by 
stopping out until these gentlemen grow tired of wait- 
ing.” Brother Luke trotted blithely off and regaled 
himself on eggs and small crabs at the nearest public- 
house. Brother Eutychus ambled back to the main 
door. 


192 Zo'e the Dancer 


“ I am so sorry,” he announced through the grating, 
but the Brother who keeps the key is out. We’re 
locked in.” 

“ Well wait,” said the two laymen. 

“ By all means,” said the Brother. “ Sit on the 
step, won’t you ? There’s not much mud.” 

. They preferred to stand. Every few minutes 
Brother Eutychus politely brought a fresh face to the 
wicket. All assured them that the Porter would 
return some time, expressed regret and begged the 
gentlemen to be seated; there wasn’t much mud. 
Brother Frederic appeared. 

“ Here’s one of your chaps,” said Mr Jewell-Brown. 

“ Ho doubt the porter,” said Brother Eutychus, who 
could not look up the street, but hoping devoutly it 
wasn’t. 

It was impossible for Brother Frederic to get in as 
the Brother who had charge of the key — and so on, 
and so forth. Conventual life had made the Brother 
patient ; he did not disdain to sit on the step. He had 
met Brother Luke at the corner ; the Porter had run 
out, with his mouth full of soft crab and hard egg, as 
his confrere passed, to explain matters. 

Wychth Waite’s patience being mortal, at last gave 
up the ghost. Mr Jewell-Brown’s was long since 
defunct. They went off without a word in answer to 
all the civilities they had received. 

In a very low public-house on their route they saw 
one of the brown-tuniced Brothers, eating shell-fish 
and dirtily scattering the debris thereof on the public 
road. Too late they guessed that he must be the one 


Zoe the Dancer 193 


with the key. They returned at full speed to find 
the door as soundly barred as ever, but Brother 
Frederic on the Zoe side of it. 

FTo amount of knocking brought a jocund face to the 
wicket. 


Chapter XXVI 


sets forth deeds of derring-do 


W YCHTHWAITE was in a parlous plight. 

The Church had diddled him, as Mr 
Jewell-Brown expressed it, the Law 
had failed him. Its oracle, paid at the 
rate of six-and-eightpence, had delivered the self-same 
sibylline message as Brother Frederic had done gratis : 
Yoti must find the lady before yoa can compel her 
to live with you. 

The Fraternity had been explored, from cell to 
cellar. Brother Simon had seen his dirty linen 
basket rudely turned out, every thing pell-mell on the 
floor : Brother Eutychus had watched strange hands 
rummage among his pots and pans, and leeks and 
parsnips. The Brothers had enjoyed the fun : they 
were embarrassingly willing to help, opening doors 
that had scantly disguised smells, to let those nostril- 
tempting vapours abroad in the faces of the searchers. 
They had dragged the corps up and down the stairs on 
false pretences to search a cupboard or to burrow in a 
garret until, weary and snappy, Wychthwaite drew 
his posse off. There was no sign of Zoe in the 
monastery. She had slept in complete safety at her 
old room at Madame Plisse’s, which had been searched 
earlier in the day. The second day passed in seclu- 
sion at Peggy’s room. Zoe counted her shillings, the 
sum did not run to pounds j felt her need of money 

194 


Zo'e the Dancer 195 

acutely ; all her savings had gone on buying her 
trousseau. It was clear that she could not longer lie 
in hiding without working for her livelihood. 

A message was brought warily to her from the 
Brothers that Wychthwaite and his band were going 
immediately out to the Brothers’ country seat, some 
few miles from the town. Zoe read the note, thought, 
and speedily acted. She sent word to the theatre 
that she would dance if they would have her. 

If they would ! was the manager’s answer. Peggy, 
who had borne the message, explained it. She alone, 
beside the Brothers and Sister Superior, knew the 
whole story. Everyone else believed Mrs Wychthwaite 
to be enjoying the bliss of honeymoon e7i route to Paris. 

Zoe followed the message very warily, and came to 
terms with her manager. Money, she declared, she 
must have. He scented advertisement in the notoriety 
that must ensue, and offered her a larger sum than 
she had received before. She accepted it thankfully, 
understanding the reason of the increase and not 
objecting to it. 

“Show him you don’t care a — bit. Miss Zoe,” 
said the manager. 

“I will,” said she firmly. She felt that she did 
not care a — bit : all the anguish had been passed 
in those night hours, or while she knelt torn with 
sobs before the crucifix in Brother Frederic’s cell. 
Public opinion, she believed, would be with her ; the 
town was usually just, and open also, in such matters. 
She had as little doubt as to private opinion. Dread 
of Wychthwaite alone hindered her from visiting, 
explanatorily, all her friends. 


196 Zoe the Dancer 


She slid into her yellow tights and decked her 
yellow hair, very contentedly, in her stuffy little room 
at the theatre, waiting for Amalia to arrive and to be 
told of her return. Continually she insisted to Peggy 
on two things. 

First, if any man comes for me put him in the 
manager’s room and lock the door before you fetch 
me. I’ll reconnoitre through the hole Miss Tauzy 
kicked. 

Second, if anyone offers you money, never mind 
how much, to tell him where I am, take it — ('"I 
will,” said Peggy, fervently) — and tell a lie. 

The charge pleased Peggy. Zoe drummed it well 
in, was twitched to rights and went on. Great cheers 
arose from the house ; for nearly a week she had been 
absent. She felt her prestige returning. 

The theatre, its look, its misty sea of faces, its odour, 
its sounds, acted as a tonic for her. She nodded cheerily 
to the orchestra, bowed to the smirking Pian-piano and 
gave her dance. She had a grand round of applause. 
In the wings, the manager clapped softly. The tenor, 
the contortionist, the funny man, the lady-conjuror, all 
gathered to greet and congratulate her. They had 
heard of the unhappy business ; curious regards 
mingled with cheerful smiles. No Amalia was there. 
Zoe did not choose to wait ; she returned cautiously 
on Peggy’s arm to that good creature’s room ; the door 
fastened, they both snapped fingers at the absent 
husband. 

News of her egregious daring met Wychthwaite on 
his return. He was thunderstruck, feeling the situa- 
tion hopeless. There was something abominably 


Zoe the Dancer 197 


decisive about his wife, illustrated neatly by this 
behaviour, that gave him pause, and food for thought 
to occupy it. He reiterated with sober lips the lewd 
and blasphemous phrases he had used three nights 
previously when intoxicated. His helpers laughed ; 
they admired Zoe. 


Chapter XXVII 

is occupied with stratagems 

I N consigning the culpable husband of his god- 
child to fry in flames, Brother Frederic had 
fondly hoped to have done with him. The 
verbal battle over, victory on his own side had 
given him ground for belief that the gentleman was 
once and for ever settled. To make the matter doubly 
sure, the Brother had carried it to a higher tribunal 
and, with a firm trust of his own influence in that 
quarter, had handed the case of Wychthwaite, ear- 
marked for everlasting condemnation, to be confirmed 
by the superior power. If fryings, in pursuance of 
his urgent recommendation, were to be, their hour was 
not yet ; until the infernal grillers should receive the 
blackened soul of the sinner for ordeal by fire, the 
corporeal wrong- doer went his way unperturbed. 

Yet it was evident, even to the celibate understanding 
of Brother Frederic, that Wychthwaite could not entirely 
be at peace. A glance at Zoe illustrated very vividly 
his enormous loss ; the lover whom Beauty rejects is 
everywhere commiserated; what, then, of the hus- 
band who is sent about his business, or, to be accurate, 
about business that isn’t by any means his, his 
own being absolutely denied him ? When this 
aspect of existing circumstances was borne in upon 
the mind of Brother Frederic, he realised with placid 
astonishment that all reprisals are not left for the 
188 


Zo'e the Dancer 199 


hereafter. The fact had never so strongly appealed 
to him as when he looked at Zoe and remembered 
Wychthwaite. 

That suffering etherealises is an axiom very gener- 
ally accepted by the sentimental : its popularity lies 
with people who read moral tales and skimp household 
expenses. Zoe’s cheek was no paler, her look no 
gentler ; but to those who knew of her adventure, 
regarding her with a graver attention than they had 
vouchsafed her before, she truly seemed to have 
gained in beauty. The glamour of grief and ex- 
perience of evil was about her ; the widening circle 
that heard her tale wondered, pitied, and admired. 
Independence of spirit is often highly applauded by 
the disinterested ; when a dainty woman, looming in 
the public eye, displays it, the admiration is very 
great ; when, furthermore, its exhibition leads to the 
comic discomfiture of an abhorred ginger-whiskered 
raw-beef-eater, the hilarity and approval are un- 
bounded. 

That particular quality was the very one that 
Brother Frederic least sanctioned in his pupil ; he 
implied reproof. Zoe listened with weary deference. 

“ I am sorry to incur any such charge,” she said. 
“ I will strive to be humbler, more docile — I will 
indeed.” 

“ May you be strengthened in your resolve, my 
child,” said Brother Frederic. “ You shall have my 
special prayers.” 

“ Thank you, my Brother,” answered Zoe. '' And 
the next time I marry. I’ll be a most dutiful 
wife.” 


200 Zo'e the Dancer 


“ The what ? ” cried the Brother. 

“ The ? ” Zoe repeated. 

“ The next time you — oh, my goodness ! ” 

I was only joking,” Zoe said. 

Brother Frederic stared at her angrily until coher- 
ence became his. In his opinion the jest was infinitely 
worse than the serious idea. With lamentable lack 
of finesse, the poor dear old gentleman tried the effect 
of bullying. Here was her salvation ; she had an 
excuse to weep. He could not understand how tired 
Zoe was of the subject, every point of which had 
been considered and reconsidered and examined again 
and had returned for investigation until the mention 
of it was torment. 

She had gone in her trouble to Lalage, taking 
devious ways and paths, expecting comfort from her. 
That astonishing creature immediately mounted a 
pedestal of unassailable virtue, whence she descanted 
at full length of duties, scandals, ill-advised actions, 
marryings in haste, etcetera, and ended with an “ I 
told you so ! ” so solemnly enounced, that Zoe, greatly 
discomfited, had at once fled. Lalage waited not to 
hear the door shut to get down from her pinnacle of 
high thoughts and weep heartily. Much of her 
lachrymose out-pouring was joyful. She rejoiced over 
the Humpty-dumpty state to which the erstwhile 
paragon, Wychthwaite, was reduced. 

Zoe approached Amalia Campobossi less certainly. 
She had learnt that the woman had been in the wings 
on the previous evening, but had not “ chosen ” to see 
her. That fact had startled Zoe. Tremulously she 
called upon her. Amalia did not, it is true, mount 


Zoe the Dancer 


201 


an inaccessible peak of virtue, but from her position 
on the plain of mediocrity, she harangued Zoe as 
eloquently as Lalage had done. Duty was her text, 
and she arrived at tenthly before matter gave out. 
Zoe had a mite of comfort in the knowledge that 
Campobossi was on her side, from the way in which 
he had been bundled from the room on her arrival, 
and the hearty grip he managed to dart forth and 
bestow on her hand as she descended the stairs in 
disorder. 

Martha failed her also. The good creature sighed, 
doubted, looked askance, hazarded moral remarks, 
became unwittingly plagiarist of the two former ser- 
monisers; Zoe met her reproaches with grave and 
wistful look. A tear shone in her eye : Martha saw 
it and was undone. Sobs, embraces, sympathy were 
her resort, her sweet good nature was stronger than 
her restraint ; she kissed Zoe and would have kissed 
her as a bigamist or worse. 

“Whatever you’ve done, my d-darling,” she said, 
dabbing her own eyes and Zoe’s alternately, “ is for 
the best, I don’t care what anybody says. They can 
say what they like.” 

“ Who has said anything ? ” Zoe asked. 

“No one, dear child.” 

“ Joseph ? ” 

“Don’t cry any more now, my dear.” 

“ I’m not crying any more. What has that old 
J oseph said ? ” 

« That old oh ! ” 

“ Well, Joseph.” 

“ He only said if you were his wife, he’d see you 


202 


Zoe the Dancer 


farther, before he’d let you run off,” Martha 

produced hesitatingly. 

“He didn’t say farther,” Zoe objected, “Joseph 
would see it was the very word not to use there.” 

“ No, he didn’t say farther,” admitted Martha, but 
without supplying the word he had used. 

Zoe shook her head and meditated. Her next 
journey took her home, completely disheartened. She 
swore within herself to seek condolence and sympathy 
among her feminine friends no more. She danced at 
the theatre, avoided by Amalia and avoiding her. 
After a few days, the noble and virtuous elocutionists 
came round. They had been greatly disappointed to 
find that she had not returned for further exhortation. 
Joseph himself succumbed ; he had escaped the rigor- 
ous care of the late Miss Tauzy, now become his Lares 
and Penates, on the feeble pretext of going to see a 
man about a dog. To the theatre he went, most 
stealthily, watched his friend dance and went behind 
the scenes. He confessed to his wild potential threat, 
turning it very neatly into a compliment. He was 
pleased to be charged with it, even the dreadful word 
he had used instead of farther. The compliment had 
force. 

Campobossi revealed himself Zoe’s slave in per- 
petuity. Old hatred of things English found a con- 
crete object in Wychthwaite ; the Italian did not 
express it before Zoe, but his wife suffered vicariously. 
Oaths and dreadful menaces were her regale for days. 
She truly feared for Wychthwaite should her fire- 
ating comrade meet him in single combat while the 
mood lasted. Fortunately for the lonely husband, he 


Zoe the Dancer 


203 


did not come into contact with this anglophobian 
Latin. 

It was not to be expected that one failure should 
deter that deserted man ; two did not ; a third, a 
fourth still left him militant to regain his own. 
He did not intend to sit quietly down under the 
opprobrium of his loss. 

Efforts were made in every direction to get 
possession of the lady. She was shadowed, followed 
by truculent-looking persons, once waited for by the 
determined husband at the theatre door, on which 
occasion she slept in her little dressing-room with 
Peggy and breakfasted in the royal box ; but she 
went strongly protected. Not always might she 
return to her room at Madame Plisse’s, where night 
after night and day after day the husband and his 
band of sparks watched and waited. Sometimes 
Lalage’s roomy garret welcomed her, and the next day 
she would appear in broad daylight on the Boulevard 
tripping sedately homeward. No effort was success- 
ful in discovering where she was at the moment; it 
appeared that no mortal hand could close on her. 
After a night spent with Lalage, she would elude the 
posse and run off the following evening to the 
Campobossis’. 

A game organised for children could not have been 
merrier than this was for a while ; there was a thrill 
to be experienced every time Zoe, on the arm of some 
stalwart friend, went out ; corners to be reconnoitred, 
streets to be hurried through, passages and arcades to 
be avoided. Partings into shops became an exercise of 
hourly occurrence : hurried clamberings into carriages 


204 Zoe the Dancer 


with a scream of “ Drive on quickly ” ; disguises were 
assumed, varying from Peggy’s strange costume, an 
aged riding coat, faded and buttonless, to the fashion- 
able ulster that the manager affected. Adorned by no 
less than four different hats did Zoe journey to and fro 
in one day, returning finally homeward in a pseudo- 
nautical cap with cloth curtain at the back and a 
patent leather strap to button beneath the chin, 
borrowed from Campobossi, whose taste in dress was 
as catholic as any man’s. 

Such subterfuges, however amusing, became in- 
tensely wearying. Zoe tired of them before any one 
else. She began to fear her fate. Wychthwaite 
could not, would not always so easily be put off. 
Already, writs, ominously bearing royal arms, began 
to arrive. Left to herself, she would have gone with- 
out a murmur whither these formidable documents 
ordered, but fortunately for her peace of mind, her 
male acquaintance forbade it ; they actually mocked 
at the seals, made fun of the bearers and threatened 
to “do for” a pale youth who ventured into the 
theatre, armed with such a document. Zoe was en- 
heartened, and when told to burn the beastly things, 
did so, tremulously but surely. Policemen alarmed 
her, she saw in each sleepy one the arriving justice, 
ready to clap her into the nearest dungeon, there to 
pine in gyves. As for the town-crier, the unexpected 
sight of that dignitary, roaring the loss of a dog, set 
her quaking for an hour. 

The Law, once invoked, set itself in motion, and 
having majestically commanded Zoe to return to her 
husband (and been disregarded) came to a halt. 


Zoe the Dancer 


205 


Wychthwaite found no support in sonorous phrases 
quoted for his better information. His Embassy, 
scenting scandal, was officially cold and would take 
no steps. Its members, one set of them, lent all 
assistance privately, having an interest in matrimonial 
difficulties and a penchant for abductions. The older 
men shook their heads doubtfully, admiring Zoe’s 
spirit. The younger ones planned furiously together, 
intending to bear the lady off by brute force, and 
engineering many a fiasco. They lay in wait, missed 
her once, twice, always : one of them saw her whisk 
into a carriage ; another, just too late, recognised the 
wealth of hair ; a third found himself alone when she 
appeared on Peggy’s strong right arm. 

The story had early become public property. 
Everyone knew Zoe, the theatre was nightly thronged. 
An apt illustration of her complaint against Wych- 
thwaite was afforded by the arrest of him temporarily 
for drunkenness in the road before his hotel. It was 
explained in extenuation that he had meant to mount 
from the smoking-room to his apartment, but had 
wandered by mistake through the wrong door, and 
down the steps instead of up the stairs. The excuse 
saved him from imprisonment and fine, but served 
to weaken his cause and strengthen that of his wife 
enormously. 

At the theatre, at home, out of doors, Zoe became 
aware of an infallible guard about her ; every man’s 
hand was for her; Wychthwaite was her solitary 
enemy. On one occasion she had gone with Lalage 
to a dentist’s. The man was a stranger to both. 
As they made their way down the stairs, they were 


206 Zoe the Dancer 


recalled ; the dentist, looking from his upper window, 
had seen Wychthwaite across the road idling from 
shop to shop, his eye on the small door that admitted 
to the dentist’s apartment. Zoe and Lalage were sped 
by another door by their new protector, who seemed 
as anxious to save her as if he were Campobossi 
himself. The incident showed Zoe how safe she was. 
Brussels was her safety. A vague idea she had 
cherished of leaving the city was at once and for ever 
dismissed. 

The husband was weary of his waiting ; he and his 
army concocted a manoeuvre to carry Zoe off. The 
affair was whispered somehow to the people of the 
theatre. The adherents of both sides were in full 
force during the performance. At its close, twenty 
stalwart fellows ran out with a sedan-chair, a “ pro- 
perty ” but a solid piece of work, and made for Zoe’s 
lodging with it. A plaid cloak draped the lady ; a 
well-known garment it was, of modish cut and bright 
colour, familiar to many an eye. 

Fifty swashbucklers rushed the small corps and 
overcame the heroes, carrying oft the lady. The 
whole of Brussels came running to see the sight, 
unusual in their streets, of skirmishing armies with no 
view to slaughter. Feminine shrieks from the chair 
and masculine roars from both factions, combined 
with the surging and fighting, gave an air of an 
eighteenth-century abduction. The chair was pulled 
and pushed, carried and dropped, bumped and jolted. 
Now it was with Zoe’s party, now enemies bore it in 
triumph. An hour passed before the yelling company 
arrived, bruised and dishevelled, at the door of Wych- 


Zo'e the Dancer 207 


thwaite’s hotel. His followers ran in triumphantly 
with their burden. A thin voice screamed and 
squealed ; Zoe’s band surged after this new Ark of 
the Covenant ; the vestibule, offices, steps, and front of 
the hotel were densely packed. Wychthwaite roared 
joyfully, and to celebrate his victory drew a minia- 
ture flag from his pocket and waved it triumphantly. 
Out from the chair, around which a space was left, 
tripped Campobossi, Zoe’s elegant cloak held about 
him. To the music of human laughter he approached 
Wychthwaite and courtesied mincingly, thanked him 
for the ride, and begged to be carried further to his 
apartment in a street hard by. Cries of “ Shame ! ” 
arose when Wychthwaite retired angrily before 
Campobossi’s proffered embrace. The fat Italian 
acted the role of a wistful lady and extemporised a 
little play, in which the angry husband was most 
fltly and unwillingly played by Wychthwaite himself. 
The performance lasted until Wychthwaite made a 
bolt for his own rooms, and left the side-splitting 
crowd to roar his discomfiture after him. 

No one could help laughing ; the husband’s own 
adherents were rejoiced. Campobossi was lavishly 
treated to drinks of the best on the pavement, and 
carried as he had requested to his own lodging. He 
arrived in state, still squealing in an admirable 
falsetto, at his wife’s rooms, from the windows of 
which Amalia and Zoe laughed to see the cortege 
approaching. The damsel meanwhile had tripped on 
foot to the Campobossi’s house, quite unmolested, and 
had enjoyed the sight of Campobossi’s magnificent 
return. 


208 Zo'e the Dancer 


The town was too hot for Wychthwaite. Unpro- 
nounceable, he was generally called ‘‘that ginger- 
whiskered raw-beef-eater.” Small urchins did not 
scruple to bawl the title at him in the streets. Shop- 
men ran out from behind counters to point him out 
to their customers ; boys driving carts nearly fell off 
their seats with laughter at his approach. Zoe learnt 
in a few days that he had left Brussels. 


Chapter XXVIII 

in which Hope sinks awhile 


C LAIEE had come to Brussels before 
Wychthwaite had left the town. No 
rumour of the extraordinary story had 
reached her from afar, but she had not 
been in the town an hour before she knew every detail 
of it. Before a day had passed, she had investigated 
it. Her brother was conveniently placed at court ; 
ambassadors and their acolytes were his daily visitors. 
Not a breath of scandal could exist about any member 
of the Embassies, however insignificant, without his 
knowledge. He primed his anxious sister thoroughly 
in the matter of Wychthwaite. Claire asked all and 
was told a good deal. She learnt that Wychthwaite 
and his circle were acknowledged the cads of the 
whole service. 

“ Knaves and fools,” said Burmance, “ they’re no 
use in the Service, and I don’t see that they’re much 
of an ornament to Society. That kind of ass always 
ends by marrying a ballet-girl.” 

“ The girl in question is my very good friend,” his 
sister advised him. 

“ Your friend ? Yours ? ” he cried, with amazement. 
“We were at school together. She’s also my 
dearest friend now. Baby’s godmama, too,” the lady 
said. “Please believe nothing wrong about my 
Zoe.” 


210 


Zoe the Dancer 


“ Is she your Zoe ? The Zoe of the boards ? the 
young man asked. “ Then I am to believe the general 
rumour that she’s perfectly good and sweet, and in the 
right of this unfortunate matter ? ” 

“ Do people say that ? ” Claire asked in turn, very 
pleased. “ I know how good she is, I know her 
sweetness — no one better. She’s the dearest girl.” 

“ She’s very lovely,” said Burmance. 

“ She’s a gem, poor darling,” Claire said. “ I’ll go 
to her. Can I give you a lift anywhere ? ” 

She found the poor darling quietly at her old room 
and took her out for the rest of the day. The meet- 
ing was somewhat awkward ; there was no baby to 
pet ; Claire having wisely left that convenient young 
person at home. From her two years’ experience of 
exceedingly happy married life, she intended to 
harangue Zoe. The girl sat with face averted. Claire 
melted. They drove about, hand in hand, a gentle 
pressure supplying explanations until the house was 
gained and they could closely embrace. No scolding, 
no judgment, no harsh advice was given then. Zoe 
was immensely grateful. She was at home with 
this gentle friend. Claire was dissolved in 
tears. 

Passing through the town on their return from the 
country-house, they saw and were seen by Mr Jewell- 
Brown. Zoe murmured what she knew of him as 
they drove on. He calculated, as he watched the 
dwindling carriage, the time it would take Zoe to 
walk from the house of the Burmances — whither he 
guessed the sister of Burmance was going — to her 
own humble lodging. If she intended to traverse that 


Zoe the Dancer 


211 


insignificant distance on foot, he might waylay her, 
and carry her off to Wychthwaite at Paris. 

A soft warmth in the air revivified all the passers- 
by. Boys whistled, girls walked with a swing, men 
threw their coats open and carried their hats in their 
hands. Exhilaration was breathed from the delicious 
atmosphere. Mr Jewell-Brown felt the desire to excel 
his fellows in carrying off the lady. He waited hope- 
fully for her return, with an air of sportsmanship. 
His reckoning and surmise were correct ; he saw her 
tripping alone into the very trap he had so cunningly 
laid. Wychthwaite’s departure had encouraged her to 
so bold a step. The roads were quiet, the town busied 
otherwhere. She came on without fear. Jewell- 
Brown hailed a carriage and stood to wait for her. 
She perceived it and him, guessing instantaneously at 
his plan. Escape was fully possible. She had but to 
make five steps into the main road and call, and 
every man would be at her side. The exhilarating 
air emboldened her also : she preferred to defy him. 
In the still road, the shrill whisper he addressed to the 
coachman was audible to her, more so than a low- 
voiced command would have been. He had bidden 
the man drive like the devil, when he heard “Go 
it ! ” Zoe arrived briskly at the carriage side, evaded 
Jewell-Brown’s arm, slipped like lightning round 
behind the carriage, he in pursuit, jumped lightly in 
the other side, crying “ Go it ! ” at the top of her 
voice, and was off, as like the devil as the driver 
and the horse could attain, before Jewell-Brown 
could seize her manoeuvre. He gaped in admira- 
tion. 


212 Zo'e the Dancer 


“ What a girl ! ” he meditated. “ What a regular 
daisy ! There’s no coming up with her.” 

Zoe kept the story to herself. She was highly 
amused by the young man’s attempt to abduct her 
singlehanded and in open day. Eecalling the scene, 
she laughed till the tears ran down her face. For his 
part Jewell-Brown appreciated the comic side of it as 
hugely, he laughed in private when he remembered 
the harlequinade of it all, and his lorn state in the 
road. The fun of it seemed to his mind a bond 
between them ; he sat to pen a note, in which his 
admiration — entirely respectful — found vent, and his 
contrition was expressed for any offence he might have 
caused her. Fool and knave he might be, but the 
letter was the letter of a man, frank and gentlemanly. 
Zoe read into the letter as much as the writer had 
meant. This man, of old her enemy, was become her 
staunch ally. 

“ A friend at the Embassy,” she said, “ I begin to 
triumph already,” she replied to the letter in the best 
of faith, as it had been sent. An offer, disingenuously 
worded, to stand by her in case of need was candidly 
accepted. She had triumphed indeed. 

More than by that one conquest she was victorious. 
The public was on her side. The Embassy was — not 
on Wychthwaite’s. Claire talked to her brother, did 
more, she brought him face to face with her Zoe, and 
the frequenter of courts was won. Unofficial chatter, 
even on royal lips, brought her name in at times. On 
more than one occasion the royal box had been 
occupied. She was admired in high circles for her 
grace, and her independence. It was said by the very 


Zo'e the Dancer 213 


select that they liked a wench to show spirit, damn 
it. When her case and name were discussed, in 
Burmance’s presence, he held a brief for her. 

To Zoe, sitting at an improvised meal of pancakes 
and crabs over her fire at Madame Plisse’s with Lalage 
shelling shrimps for an omelette to come, was brought 
a great and important missive sealed as gloriously as 
the writs but of less terrifying import. With mouth 
full of crab, she read in jerks to the delighted Lalage, 
a command to go, with her costume (my tights, you 
know, Lalage) to dance before the gorgeous company 
assembled in honour of high persons. 

A vision of triumphs throughout Europe dazzled 
Lalage. Zoe saw in the missive the protection she 
still felt she needed sorely against Wychthwaite. 
Lalage, with a bad cold, refrained from embracing this 
friend of Ambassadorial delegates and regal persons, 
but kissed her hair and gloves fondly. They sat long 
into the night talking the matter over. 

Burmance it was who had recommended the dancer 
in high places. He welcomed her and handed her to 
some equally great lady, who took her in hand until 
the dance was ready. She had been bidden to take 
her own accompanist. The Campobossis had advised 
Pian- piano, and with him she had arrived at the royal 
palace. Without his music she could not have 
danced. For the first time she felt his calf-like stare 
a support, his vague manner of playing a comfort. 

She hurried to Lalage, full of her experience, to 
find the girl ill in bed. It was necessary to have a 
doctor. Zoe ran out again, to collide with Pian-piano 
who had sheepishly followed her and not yet gone 


214 Zoe the Dancer 


away. She sent him in one direction and herself 
sped in another. Madame Cari-P^de was brought ; 
the doctor came without haste, as doctors do ; Pian- 
piano waited about to fetch and carry : the doctor’s 
orders were speedily accomplished by him, he ran to a 
chemist’s, rushed back again, carried messages, and did 
all manner of odd jobs in a definite and useful 
fashion little to be expected of so moonstruck a swain. 
For his trouble he had the reward of walking home 
with Zoe ; he had been with her, or working for her 
nearly the whole day. 

Zoe returned to her friend at the earliest possible 
moment the next day. She gathered that Lalage 
must still be very ill, when she saw in the sickroom 
her father, mother, and the others of the family. 
Zoe held Bertrand’s hand for a brief moment. The 
girl before them, so dear to all, prevented the meeting 
being awkward. All felt too deeply the imminence 
of tragedy to remember the trivial happenings of three 
or more years ago. 

Zoe was left alone with Lalage and sat quietly 
beside her ; the sick girl wished to talk. “ Talk to 
me about your affairs,” she said, over and over again. 

In great distress, lest she should do harm, Zoe 
pretended to be highly humorous ; she gave an account 
of her late adventure and tried, with all manner of 
feeble wit, less to distract Lalage’s than her own 
thoughts. She talked unwearyingly, resuscitating all 
the idle chatter she could recollect to divert the 
invalid. The name of Burmance was constantly 
repeated. More than once she had to explain to the 
sick girl who she was. 


Zoe the Dancer 215 


“ Are you happy now, Zoe ? ” she asked. 

“N — not happy, Lalage. But not unhappy 
either.” 

You’d be worse with your Yiche — you know ? ” 

“ Much, much, my dear. I can never return to 
him.” 

Lalage mused. 

“ How would you be happiest ? ” she feebly asked, 
turning her head to face Zoe. 

“ With my Lalage quite well again.” 

Ah, but how really ? ” insisted the sick girl. 

“ If I loved and were loved again,” Zoe vaguely 
said. 

“ I’ll tell Mary,” the girl remarked. She dozed 
fitfully and Zoe prayed. Long she knelt by the bed 
in supplication to Mary, not for her happiness, but for 
the restoration of her friend. She felt strengthened 
and reassured when she rose from her knees. Lalage 
quietly slept. The mother had gone to rest, having 
watched all night. Zoe had no idea that Lalage had 
awakened, until the girl put a feverish hand on hers. 

“ If I could see my happiness, I’d take it,” she said 
clearly. 

“ What do you mean ? ” cried Zoe, struck by the 
change in her tone and startled by the suddenness of 
Lalage’s movement. 

“ I’d take my happiness, if I could see it,” said she 
again. Zoe did not press her to explain. Even to 
her ignorant eye, the girl’s state was perilous. She 
fell into another doze before the mother returned, 
still weary, to take her turn of watching. 

“ Send for me if she’s not so well to-night,” Zoe 


216 Zoe the Dancer 


said. “I’ll come in any case some time to watch 
while you rest.” 

The old difference on Bertrand’s account was 
forgotten. There was no thought in either woman’s 
mind, save of Lalage. 


Chapter XXIX 


tells of one of Earth*s daughters^ from whose shoulders the 
burden of life was early lifted 


Z OE left tlie stage to find Bertrand in the 
wings, he came to bid her return to Lai age ; 
she hurried straightway to the roomy 
garret where the girl lay. Bertrand had 
told her on the way that his sister could not recover : 
the doctor had been with her, just before he had run 
off for Zoe and the words were his. 

“ We’ve given up hope,” he said, dully. 

Zoe left him downstairs with that sad sentence on his 
lips. The mother toiled aimlessly about the room, 
arranging furniture already in place, tidying what was 
quite neat, trying to weary her mind by wearying her 
already tired body. Zoe sent a message by Bertrand 
to her own lodging and prepared with a heavy heart to 
watch through the night. Without words, they settled 
to their helpless waiting. From time to time the mother 
continued to rise and move some trifle, to dust a table 
or breathe on the window pane and polish it. A quiet 
company of visitors, the father, Bertrand and the girl’s 
lover, Cassis, were admitted. Each kissed her brow. 
She slumbered uneasily, unmoved by the visit. The 
three men went as stealthily as they had come, fearing 
to discompose the girl, already unconscious to sound 
and sight. The mother dozed or wept querulously ; 
she felt aggrieved that there was nothing to be done. 

217 


218 


Zoe the Dancer 


They did not speak to each other. Zoe held commune 
with her God. 

Lalage never stirred ; her breathing sounded loud in 
the still night : the noise of it was only broken by the 
insistent church-clock near at hand, which struck o£E 
quarter by quarter the remnant of her life. 

The room grew cool, a light wind brushed the window. 
Zoe kindled the stove : the mother woke to find her at 
work, and without a word, pushed her away from the 
task which she noisily completed herself. She was glad 
of the little trouble the stove caused. Zoe regretted her 
inexperience in not thinking to fire the wood before. 
She knelt in devout absorption by the bed-foot, reciting 
her prayers and reading, in her book of hours, meditations 
suited to the tragic time. 

On her knees, near the lamp which was on a low table 
behind the bed-foot so that Lalage’s face was screened 
from its direct glare, she implored Mary to be at hand. 

The wind wandered past the casement, Zoe figured 
the wings of Lalage’s guardian angel and his band 
brushing past, wavering and swooping outside ; she 
beheved that the hosts waited without for the dying 
girl, whose soul, slipping through the open window, 
should stand on the foot of her guardian spirit and so 
mount to Peter’s gate. 

Brother Frederic was brought by the waiting father ; 
Zoe did not rise from her knees. The blessed oil lay on 
the sick girl’s lips and brow. The priest prayed by the 
bed-head, his office finished. The father and mother 
sat hand in hand with faces turned to the dpng girl. 
A great silence fell. The father rose and set the window 
ajar to give the freed soul passage to the hosts^that 


Zoe the Dancer 


219 


stayed without. The dead girl’s life had gone out as 
lightly as the flame of a candle, blown by Azrael’s breath. 
The wind freshened and rattled the casement, breaking 
the great stillness that was above them all. The mother 
stared uncomprehendingly. When she perceived the 
loss she had suffered, she made pitiful outcry. She 
threw herself across the bed, crjdng to her Lalage to 
speak, to speak, to speak. The bereaved father bore her 
tenderly from the room. Brother Frederic went slowly 
out : in the house, people were stirring quietly. Zoe 
heard the priest go down the street, his steps dying 
gradually away, but audible to the very last. 

The mother came back, stronger since her weeping : 
she brushed her child’s hair and made the bed neat, 
crying all the while. She drew the sheet over the girl’s 
face. Her sobs increased in force ; Zoe could not bear 
to hear her : her own icy fortitude broke down : she 
gave way to her tears. Long time she wept until too 
weary to do so more, her own sobs ceasing, she became 
aware that the father and brother had come in and were 
sitting with bowed heads on the other side of the bed. 
Their heavy breathing, irregularly drawn, betrayed 
them. Zoe prayed for the living as much as for the 
dead. 

She followed the girl’s soul to the gate of Heaven 
and recited in her mind, for Peter’s ear, the list of her 
many virtues : the girl on her knees thought only of the 
Christ-like qualities of her dear dead friend, in no wise 
remembering her failings. The sweet soul gone forth 
from the clay that rested silently there was of God’s 
own fashioning — the work of His master hand. 

The early light released Zoe from her watching. 


220 


Zo'e the Dancer 


Drawing down the sheet she looked long and wonderingly 
at the sublimely peaceful face, then leaned down and 
kissed the white brow. Without adieux to the other 
watchers she made her way into the street. Opposite 
the house Cassis was patiently standing ; he beckoned 
to Zoe and she obeyed the gesture. 

‘‘ How is she ? ” he asked. 

“ She is dead,” Zoe whispered with averted head. 

For a space he answered nothing, then, in a quiet 
voice, “ 0 Lalage, 0 my girl ! ” 

They stood in silence, Zoe restraining her grief in the 
presence of his restraint. His face was disordered, but 
he was still master of his voice when he spoke. “ You 
must get home, Zoe,” he said at last. “ Come, you’ve 
had a weary night.” She took his supporting arm and 
went blindly back to Madame Plisse’s. At the door 
she dismissed him with a wave of the hand, fearing to 
speak. “ Good-bye, Zoe,” he said, gently. “ We must 
be friends.” 

She could not turn away before her tears burst forth. 
At the sound of her sobbing, his passion overcame him ; 
he raised his hand menacingly to the sky that curved 
like a granite dome. “ If the sun should dare to shine 
to-day,” he cried, “ I should straightway curse my God.” 


Chapter XXX 

is reminiscent of Sorrow and the Herald of Peace 


Z OE slept till late and awoke refreshed. She 
sat up in bed and went over the events 
of the past night. Tears she shed none, 
but her heart weighed sadly within her 
bosom. A veil hung between her and her joyous 
perception of life ; everything seemed of evil portent, 
she drooped physically, seeing no hope. The outer 
day, nearing noon, matched with her mood, the sky still 
brooded grey and mysterious without light or rain. 

The poignancy of her distress was less grief for her 
loss than the tremor of youth and health brought for 
the first time face to face with the appalling fact of 
death. Lalage shone radiantly about her. From that 
night when her spirit had passed, Zoe thought of her 
no longer as the placid, easily-amused girl ; her memory 
hung ethereally illumined and sanctified, in the nebulae 
of Zoe’s mind. 

She rose and went out. When, in the course of her 
aimless walk, she faced the corner which had witnessed 
their first renewal of friendship as women, she trembled 
for loneliness. Her thoughts ran widlly on, to be brought 
to a sudden halt by the realisation of Lalage’s death. 
This then was what it meant — ^loneliness for Zoe, grief 
for Zoe, anguish for Zoe. These bodings pursued her 
throughout the day, she pirouetted with them at night. 
She was not newly to learn the goodness of those she 

221 


222 


Zoe the Dancer 


loved, but again to realise with a full heart how truly 
she was encompassed by kindliness. It was well for her 
that the theatre claimed her much. Every one found 
something for her to do. The manager invented at 
rehearsals new movements, which she had to practise 
till she was ready to fall for weariness. Martha de- 
veloped an unaccustomed timidity and would not go 
marketing alone; she would call on Zoe before eight 
o’clock and take her breakfast with her, afterwards 
insisting on her company to the shops. Amalia had 
music to be copied, for which there must be no delay. 
Claire must have her of an afternoon to help with 
beautiful things for her god-child. Even the late Miss 
Tauzy, moved by the sudden and dreadful fate of Zoe’s 
friend, unbent so far as to call on Zoe herself and take 
her, a very unwilling companion, to help choose an 
overmantle. From one occupation the girl was harried 
to another : night alone brought her time for brooding. 
At night the waste of loneliness was about her, her grief 
was felt until she bowed beneath it. The buoyancy 
of her youth had suffered a cruel blow. Work was her 
salvation. Sometimes she returned to her lodging so 
tired that she slept before she could say her prayers. 

Claire’s habit of sending for her in the afternoon 
meant that she returned to the town in time for the 
theatre. Often she would be sent back in the carriage. 
At times she elected to walk. Peggy was called on to 
bear her company. Peggy rebelled sorely against such 
foot-exercise, she was frequently not the only escort. 
Vague rumours of “ nasty customers ” got about ; 
Claire’s brother would make one of the little party 
returning to Brussels. When he was by, Peggy would 


Zo'e the Dancer 


223 


step out behind, her thoughts duly resentful : when they 
reached the streets, her nose eager for titillating fumes. 
She sniffed up their odorous invitation, eyed the imbibers 
of nectar gloomily and with a gluttonous air, and passed 
courageously on. Staunch to her self-imposed pledge 
made, now long since, on Zoe’s wedding day, she re- 
mained temperate. She was sorely assailed : human 
nature cried out for richer and more savoury stimulants 
than coffee ; she stood firm, eschewing, like a female 
Sir Galahad, alcohol in every form. Her temper had 
not improved, but her health had. She slept regularly, 
was cleaner in person and, adorned by a seemly and 
shapely cloak of Zoe’s making, she made what some 
persons, catholic in taste, might think a good figure. 
She was certainly no longer ridiculous to the eye. 
Sulk as she might, she was in reality well content to be 
seen daily in company with her adored Zoe. 

It would be invidious to whisper that one person 
regretted Peggy’s abstention ; that person a Brother : 
that Brother our Brother Frederic : that he had found 
in her a very handy and nasty taunt with which to 
wound Brother Robert, that he missed Miss Peggy’s 
unpastoral visits. It would, we reiterate, be far from 
generous to allude to this. But it is known that he put 
it down to the black account held by him against Zoe. 

Claire held Peggy to be a valuable person. The two 
would confabulate lengthily, always about Zoe, nothing 
but Zoe. The interviews led to Claire’s asking Zoe 
to come to live with her. She was sincere ; she foresaw 
returning depression, dreadful morbidity, if the girl 
continued to live alone. Zoe considered the plan, 
grateful for the offer. She thought it over deeply, and 


224 


Zoe the Dancer 


refused. It would mean, as she well knew, giving up 
the stage and becoming a regular servant in the house- 
hold, however pleasant, about Claire. 

“ I love my dancing,” she gave as an excuse. “ And 
you can’t, my dear, have a dancer living in the house, 
can you ? ” 

Claire demurred. “ You’ve been to Court.” She 
was sure of one point. “You must not live alone.” 

There were more reasons that she had in mind to 
urge against that solitude. Appearances cried loudly 
against it. A wife separated, in such circumstances, 
from her husband must walk most warily. Claire 
vaguely suggested the Convent ; the horror of Zoe’s 
countenance was feeble compared with the look on 
Sister Superior’s face when the astounding suggestion 
filtered through to her. 

Zoe promised to meditate further. With her mind 
full of the idea, she went to her dance. She found the 
manager distracted. The contortionist had “ ricked ” 
himself somewhere (as his letter of explanation termed 
it) vital, and couldn’t dream of juggling himself in the 
existing circumstances. His note, received only ten 
minutes before the door opened, went on to say that in 
consequence of the shock, would the manager please 
send his salary at once, Saturday being so far off (it was 
Thursday), and his rick being perhaps a matter of weeks. 
The manager had been fulminating until Zoe’s arrival. 
She was late ; not for her dance, but for the beginning 
of the performance. Campobossi also was late. 

The tenor was allowed to take three recalls, not over- 
heartily given, to atone for the ricked contortionist. 
No Campobossi ! Zoe went on, danced to the stare and 


Zoe the Dancer 225 

sickly smile of Pian-piano, was recalled, went througli 
her affair again. No Campobossi ! The ventriloquial 
juggler went on out of turn. He was throwing his voice 
all over the place desperately long after he should have 
done to eke the few performers out, when Amalia rushed 
in. The manager stood in the wings projecting Ms voice, 
embellished with a sibilant oath here and there, with 
admirable directness right into the ear of the despairing 
ventriloquist. 

“ My dear boy’s ill,” Amalia announced. “ The poor 
wretch started and had to come back. He can’t come. 
He broke down. I’ve taken the precaution of locking 
him in.” 

“ Can’t come ? ” the manager said. 

“ I’U sing,” said Amalia, less explosively. 

“ Are you dressed ? ” 

“ Marvellously.” 

“ Put on some rouge then, my poor girl, and be 
ready at the tenor’s call. We’ve had enough of him to 
sicken everyone. And this devil too. We’ll be all 
right now. Fit as ninepence ! Dab some red on her 
face. Peg.” 

Zoe performed that artistic office. The ventriloquist, 
released, cast his voice through the keyhole of Zoe’s 
door in hoarse thanks to Amalia for coming. 

Amalia xdos dressed “ marvellously ” in a blue silk 
gown of past fashion. “ Get some fashion into me, if 
you can, my dear,” she said, running an eye over some 
music she held in her hand. A tweak here and a pin 
there resolved the dress into something quite stylish. 
Zoe rummaged for a gay scarf, bound it about the bodice 
to hide the scant folds, produced artificial roses in 

p 


226 Zoe the Dancer 

abundance for hair and belt. Amalia was entirely 
passive. 

“ My poor lad,’’ she said, “ his breathing is dreadful. 
Don’t hide my elbows, Zoe, there are not many women 
of my age could show a dimple just there, eh ? How 
old do you think I am ? Fifty-one, I am. I know I 
only look forty and most of the time I feel thirty : and 
to-night if you could lace me just a little tighter I’ll 
be twenty-five, not a minute more. I used to have a 
lovely voice once, I’m proud to say. I had serious 
ideas of coming out in Grand Opera. Campobossi 
shared them. We were remarkably alone in those great 
ideas, my love. We often laugh now about it. Poor, 
dear lad, I hope he’s easier in his chest. They say in- 
haling camphor is a very good thing ; do you know it ? 
I believe it relieves the breathing wonderfully. Has 
Peggy told you, my dear, that we’re not married ? 
I hoped she would. We’ve always meant to, ever since 
I was twenty-one, my age when I first came to him. 
We were constantly telling each other, for twenty years 
at the very least, when we’ve got the time and the money, 
we’ll go ofi and get married. You’ll laugh when I tell 
you we’ve never had a minute in those thirty years. Or 
perhaps — since that I’ve only said so for a joke. I was 
making him laugh that way just before I came out. 
I thought if he laughed it might help his breathing. 
You know a little thing like that often helps the chest 
wonderfully. But I often thought also, that if we didn’t 
get on very well, we could so easily go apart — so many 
professional people do ; however I don’t suppose I ever 
thought that seriously. People don’t live together for 
thirty happy years, and work together — and go hungry 


Zo'e the Dancer 227 

together — just to quarrel at the end. I love my Pipi 
just as much now — more, yes, more — than I did when 
he was slim enough to play Accari in the ‘ Brigand’s 
Mistress.’ My poor dear lad, I do hope he’ll take his 
physic. I said you’d laugh just now, my dear, when you 
heard I’d never been married. And you did smile. 
But you may think I’m immoral, being brought up as 
you were in a convent. No one could have a greater 
respect for the good Sisters than I, but I don’t — I can’t 
think they’re any better than we. I believe, if any of 
them had met a man like Campobossi before she was 
out of her novitiate, she’d have left all to follow him. 
Men like my Campobossi aren’t so common though ; 
and a good thing too. Otherwise we should have no 
religious orders. And who could teach the children? 
There’s Mr Burmance, your friend. He’s a Campobossi. 
Honest and faithful, as my dear boy is. Honesty and 
fidelity are two very good points in a man. All the 
fancy virtues can come later. Am I neat, my dear ? 
Oh, I look gorgeous.” 

She ran out to be announced by the manager 
as the Caramalia. Zoe mused dreamily. A 
thought took form. She wrote a note to Amalia 
and left it for her reading. It suggested their 
moving to handsomer quarters with Zoe as a 
member of the household. It was written impul- 
sively, but the morning, which brought Amalia’s cordial 
assent to the plan, did not bring disapproval of the 
night’s action. 

Martha, learning of the plan, was heartily glad. 
“ Anything that Amalia has a hand in is good,” she said. 
“ She’s the best creature in the world for you to live 


228 Zoe the Dancer 

with. Anything she recommends has ever5d:hing to — 
recommend it.” 

“ It has,” added Joseph (Joseph under Tauzocracy), 
“ the hall-mark of excellence.” 

“We value her opinion highly.” 

“ She is the modern Pallas-Athene.” 

“ She’s got a large heart, my dear.” 

“ And is so intelligent that were she even a shade 
less beautiful and fascinating, every man alive would 
hate her.” 

“ You are a stupid,” said Martha. “ No one would 
ever dream of saying so.” 

“ I stand corrected,” said Joseph. 

His pertness delighted Zoe. She laughed more 
heartily than she had done for a long time. He blos- 
somed in the appreciation of his repartee. His practical 
spouse had a way of withering the buds of conversation 
and wit that sprouted on his lips. He basked in the sun 
of what he considered her admiration. The delicious 
idea that he was admired led him to present Zoe with a 
beautiful cardboard casket of very highly scented soap. 
Zoe smelt it, thanked him, still laughing gaily, and went 
home to make her arrangements for moving. The soap 
was given with the strictest injunction to secrecy, to 
Peggy. The present had its use. She washed con- 
tinually, but she was very highly perfumed, too much 
so for Zoe’s taste. Campobossi admired the scent, and 
it was well that he did, for Amalia and Zoe intended to 
translate Peggy to the new abode, soap or no soap. 

The apartment was chosen, wall-papers were selected 
(something of the gaudiest, but very cheerful); furni- 
ture was rummaged out of dreadful rookeries in back 


Zoe the Dancer 


229 


streets, polished abnormally, and all of it discovered to 
be real sometbing-or-other without exception. The three 
optimists, with Peggy at their heel, spent hours with their 
mouths full of nails and tin-tacks piercing them at all 
angles, on their knees before these historically remark- 
able articles, stuffing, upholstering, covering, fixing 
springs, sewing repp and damask, tangling their legs 
with gimp, hammering fingers sore, running sharp wires 
into their hands, bringing each other blackened thumb- 
nails for inspection, screaming and staunching blood, 
and throughout it all, laughing so heartily, that the 
other inhabitants of the block began to think that an 
insane carpenter had taken the third floor and had a 
pleasant way of trying to kill his family between jobs. 
The three became too tired to hit themselves any more. 

Campobossi went for a whole day with his hand bound 
up, but bread-and-suet poultices being applied to him 
every hour until the splinter of a genuine Fourdinois 
cabinet gave it up and came out. Zoe herself believed 
she had swallowed a tin-tack, and she and Peggy, to 
whom she had whispered this engrossing fear, awaited 
development for a week until they forgot all about it. 

At the end of a fortnight, the three sat joyfully down 
to their first proper family meal ; curtains were up, 
carpets were down, never a tin-tack obtruded itself. 
Peggy in a blue-check apron serving them, Campo- 
bossi dealt with the soup — excellent soup ; Amalia 
made the salad — perfect salad ; Zoe poured the beer 
— superb head on it. Peggy did everything else — 
miraculously well. They talked nonsense like a set 
of children, Peggy taking her share of the chatter. 
They went out, like householders — they were house- 


230 Zo'e the Dancer 

holders — and shut their own doors behind them, making 
sure in their pockets that their own key was there. 
Arm and arm, with Peggy, no longer a sulky escort, 
behind, they arrived in state at the theatre, meaning to 
go home very steadily afterwards. You may suppose 
they didn’t. They rushed helter-skelter back, Campo- 
bossi and Peggy somewhat breathless, to find the flat 
intact. In they pressed, sat on their own chairs, looked 
at their own cabinet, from which the splinter was no 
longer missing, and gave themselves a toast. 

“ The Campobossi-Caxe establishment. Long may it 
prosper ! ” 

Campobossi and Amalia drank it in beer, Peggy and 
Zoe in chocolate, both beverages infinitely superior 
to nectar. 

“ This is my home,” Zoe said, “ my very first home.” 

She slept lightly there, honest love guarding her. 

Housekeeping proved to be a serious care. Peggy 
would go out of a morning to return with no merchandise 
but the coaxing announcement that celery was very good 
to-day. Not lightly to be persuaded, either Amalia 
or Zoe, sometimes both, would get on a bonnet and go 
down with Peggy, bartering joyfully with the market 
people, and returning with the most luscious vege- 
tables, meat, and dairy-produce ever sold for lucre on 
this earth. 

They bought a piano. What concerts they had ! 
Zoe practised her hour every day. What dreadful 
oaths, surpassing any the unconscious Campobossi 
could have uttered, the second and fourth floor people 
hissed in the solitude of their apartments. They gave 
supper-parties (the sweets from the pastry-cooks) and 


Zoe the Dancer 231 

sang glees at them. Campobossi revived a talent of 
improvisation, and would sit for an hour at a time, 
feeling his way among dominants and accidentals, while 
Zoe embroidered drapery for the windows and Amalia 
made over old dresses. They were always uneasy in 
mind until, from a convenient post two streets off, they 
saw their own flaming scarlet blinds and their own un- 
speakably ridiculous balcony. From that balcony, 
which would hold two people, standing, together they 
would breathe the stuffy city air, imagining fondly that 
the long inspirations they indulged in, from that con- 
venient foothold, revivified them noticeably on the spot. 

Silly little balcony it might be, ridiculous the tenants 
might be also : it was for Zoe a real home. She found 
pleasant rest within her own walls. 


Chapter XXXI 

tells of an unpleasant incident 

C LAIRE approved higUy of tlie domestic 
arrangements of tlie Campobossi-Caxe 
establishment. On her visits, Peggy, 
arriving from prolonged ablutions of an 
intensely perfumed order, would serve tea in the English 
fashion, with a minute service on the smallest possible 
table, and infinitesimal cakes in a silver basket. For 
her coming also the place was extra furbished. Its 
spick-and-span appearance was jealously examined 
by all four — Campobossi being as great an old maid as 
any of them — and the best of ever5d}hing produced. 
She would come in state, carriage and pair, two genteel 
persons on the box-seat, her own gown of elaborate 
design and voluminous folds rustling majestically up 
the stairs. Campobossi would be in his blue coat, a 
new garment, modish, with a waist cunningly suggested 
by the artist who had built it : front view, he was 
imposing ; side view, he was imposing ; back view, he 
was regal. Amalia would have on her best, no longer 
a dingy grey silk, but miraculously turned by Peggy 
and Zoe into a severe but classic garment, all spots 
removed and the worn pieces hidden under judicious 
slabs of velvet. Zoe had too many pretty things, 
remnants of her unfortunate trousseau. Gorgeously 
apparelled, they would sit about, pretending to read, 


Zo'e the Dancer 233 

while Peggy made the teapot red-hot by furious 
polishing. 

Indeed, say you, and why were they all so agitated, 
if you please ? Sir or Madam, we reply, in the first 
place Claire came straight from Court. 

That sufficed to stiffen Campobossi and to justify 
the waist, so deftly introduced by the tailor. 

Secondly, there was any amount of infiuence to be 
worked through her. Campobossi might yet come 
out in royal Grand Opera. Very well, that is ample 
reason for Amalia’s best dress, we hope. 

Thirdly, Claire did not come alone. And that, alas ! 
was Zoe’s reason. The pretty baby made a second 
visitor, but there was yet another. And that other 
was, alas! Zoe’s reason. But she didn’t know it, 
bless you. Nor did the Campobossis : nor even 
Claire. 

Other caUers, for whom reception was less elabor- 
ately prepared, there were. What supper parties 
they indulged in 1 The whole theatrical world of 
the town ate in that scarlet parlour from time to 
time. Amalia fostered an idea of founding an artistic 
salon. 

One visitor came oftener than Zoe cared for. Campo- 
bossi’s compositions may have been meritorious ; Pian- 
piano made it appear that they were inspired. He 
professed himself content to listen to them hour after 
hour. The process of listening included his sheepish 
stare at Zoe. She had a habit of seeing him well settled 
to his self-imposed task, and then going quietly away. 
She tried to believe that it was his sneering laugh at 


234 Zoe the Dancer 

her on her first appearance before him, years ago, that 
had set up her prejudice. By a lucky chance she had 
perceived his coming for three consecutive times, and 
had been able to slip away before he was in, and then 
to leave the flat until he had gone. On the last occasion, 
she spent the afternoon with Claire and returned, but 
not speedily, with Burmance. A note had arrived 
for her. Zoe had one way with all correspondence 
addressed to her at the theatre. Three-cornered notes 
to “ Zoe ” were frequent sources of replenishment to 
the fire. 

“ Throw it on the fire,” said she. “ Burn the 
thing.” 

“ That I won’t,” said Peggy. “ Addressed to you in 
your married name and all.” 

“ Is it ? ” 

“ And I know who it is from.” 

“ Whom ? ” 

“ Pian-piano. He gave it me himself.” 

Zoe took it unwillingly, but without repulsion. Some 
change in the programme had perhaps been decided 
at the last moment. She unfastened the paper and 
read. 

Signed with the young man’s name, which for the first 
time she now learnt, its purport shocked and wounded 
her. The proposal was, in black and white, so gross 
and incredible as to need reperusal before it could be 
fully understood. Considered in the cold fashion in 
which Zoe approached it, the expression and matter 
appeared revolting. She thought an instant, staying 
her hand that would have thrown it behind the fire, 


Zo'e the Dancer 


235 


enclosed it in an envelope, which she sent by Peggy 
with the message that the letter had been wrongly 
addressed, and that Mrs Wychthwaite apologised for 
opening it. 

She believed, poor little creature, that such an action 
would decisively put an end to any more advances. 
During her dance, her eyes stole often towards the 
young man. His face was as usual turned towards her ; 
his slovenly manner of playing more marked, chords 
broken, arpeggi and trills interpolated, the whole effect 
that of a musical kaleidoscope. Zoe was glad when, 
her recall over, she was able to evade the steady stare 
of his eyes. 

She had scarcely regained the shelter of her apart- 
ment, whence Peggy was for the moment absent, before 
he entered without knock or word. She had her cloak 
in her hand and was preparing to pin up her hair, 
before resuming her dress to return home. Believing 
it to be Peggy who had thus walked without warning 
into the room, she threw her cloak across the chair and 
bent to pick up her hair-pins. The movement gave her 
sight of the door in the mirror ; before it Pian- piano stood, 
his ugly face lit with an ingratiating smile. She turned 
to face him and put on her cloak speedily. 

“ My dear little creature,” he began, in a mollifying 
tone, “ the letter was meant for you, and you ought 
to know it. Didn’t I begin it in your pretty little 
name ? You’re afraid of making yourself cheap, aren’t 
you?” 

“ Kindly leave me,” said Zoe, as quietly as she could. 

“ Kindly leave you ! Oh, no, my Zozo, not yet. 


236 


Zo'e the Dancer 


If you pay me to go now — in kisses — I’ll go like a skot, 
with you,” he said, with the air of a conqueror. 

Zoe trembled with growing fear. She had never 
anticipated such an attack ; her wits escaped her. She 
stared in obvious dread at her assailant. 

“ I don’t want to frighten you,” he went on joyfully, 
“ but I do like to see you trembling, my dear girl. 
ril comfort you. Come now, Zoe, come to your Pian- 
piano. What, you won’t ? I don’t believe it ! Women 
like to be thought prudes, eh ? ” 

Zoe hoped that he might listen to reason. “ I would 
have you to know,” she said, with a show of collected 
thought, “ that my sending back your letter was to 
mean total cessation of such proposals. They disgust 
me. I wish you to understand that this must be the 
end of the discussion between us. Now have the 
goodness to leave me.” 

“ There’s a rigmarole ! ” cried Pian-piano playfully. 
“ Quite done ? Well, come along.” 

He advanced towards her, his arms outstretched ; 
she managed to dip her head and run to the door : 
she had turned the handle when he put his arms about 
her and kissed her on the neck. She fled from the room, 
leaving her cloak in his grasp, and ran away along the 
passage in her stage dress. Wild with fear, she made for 
the manager’s room, but was too terrifled to find the 
handle of the door : her hand swept the panel, caught the 
knob, but pushed and pulled it instead of turning it : 
she heard a step and believed it to be Pian-piano pursuing 
her. She screamed ; the manager opened to her and 
she ran in to the opposite corner of the room, imploring 


Zoe the Dancer 


237 


him to protect her. The under-manager was present, 
the two men were at a loss ; one went sagely in search 
of a woman, and Zoe forced herself to be silent until 
Amalia came. Amalia bore her off to her little room 
again and dressed her. She grew calmer and related 
her imsavoury adventure. Amalia forbore to question 
her or to seek further information than the girl, still 
greatly agitated, chose to give. It became generally 
believed that some roud of the town had strayed behind 
the scenes and thus vilely accosted her. Zoe thought 
fit to say nothing about the real offender. 

Plan- piano’s comment on the events of the evening 
was addressed to Zoe quietly at their next meeting. 
“ When, whoever it is at present had done with you,” 
he smilingly said, “ you won’t perhaps find me quite 
so willing to take you on.” 

The incident had its result in a definite idea to return 
to Wychthwaite for the protection of his name and the 
rehabilitation of her own character, which she thought 
sullied by this brutal speech. Long and bitter medita- 
tion prompted her to write ; she addressed at the first 
her ally, Mr Jewell- Brown, his offer to help might, she 
conceived, be construed into willingness to mediate ; 
the plan of approaching Wychthwaite through his friend 
and her adherent seemed good. Later she paraphrased 
the letter, addressing it directly to her husband. Drafts 
of it lay about in her desk for days. Now it began, 
“ My dear husband,” now it besought the help of a 
possible mediator, Jewell-Brown, Brother Frederic, 
the secretary of the Embassy. Its substance was in- 
variably the same. She thought right to return to her 


238 Zo'e the Dancer 

husband, and she intended, though it should wound her 
very soul, to do that right. 

The letter written overnight was condemned at 
morning as too hysterical : the sketch of the day was 
torn into shreds later as too business-like. 

Peggy watched this pother of writing and writing 
and again writing with suspicion. She glowered over 
Zoe’s shoulder and darted angry glances at the delicate 
script. English or French, or Chinese, for that matter, 
might return her stare from the paper ; written thought 
was to her no more than a series of arachnidian scrawl- 
ings. She persuaded, with honeyed words, her dear lady 
to write her name down. The thin, angular letters were 
no whit like the dropsical ZOE of the theatre poster ; 
Peggy was hurt, cherishing a private belief that Zoe 
had deceived her. She went straightway into her 
kitchen and burnt the scrap of paper, registering in its 
smoke a vow to ask for no more autographs. 

The continual scratching of ink on paper displeased her 
utilitarian soul. As did also the dire waste of the sheets 
when covered with their hieroglyphs. One leaf followed 
another into the flame of the candle. Twice in one 
week the tiny inkpot was filled — once to overflowing — 
but every drop went, not poured away, nor soaked 
up by blotting paper, but laid on the paper in loops 
and points and dots and lines, miraculously dissimilar. 
The knife was for ever being used to bring the pen to 
a fine point, or (monstrous to divulge) the pen itself 
was consumed by fire and a new one taken, whereas 
every housewife knows that nothing brings the fainting 
“to*' more quickly than the wrong end of a quill 


Zo'e the Dancer 239 

lightly singed. A careful woman can scarcely observe 
all this without dismay and headshakings. Such 
unusual energy in the direction of writing boded some 
ill result. She adopted a habit of bobbing into the 
room at short intervals, dish-clout or broom in hand, 
to see if the abominable process was still going on. 
The abominable process usually was ; the narrow pen 
running from left to right and from left to right with 
hardly a pause. A secret suspicion, fostered in all its 
hideousness, had, like the fox of Sparta, to be made 
known at length. 

“ I know what you’re up to, my Missis,” Peggy said, 
wagging her head ominously. 

“ So do I. Be quiet.” 

“ You’re writing a play.” 

Zoe proved the matter to Peggy beyond a doubt by 
becoming irritable and snapping her desk. 

“ Don’t be silly, Peggy,” she cried ; “ I am only writing 
a letter. I wish you’d keep to the kitchen quietly for 
once.” 

“ Letter,” Peggy was heard to repeat with a sniff. 
“ If it’s a love-letter I won’t look.” 

Zoe deferred her task until she might be alone. Her 
own room at the flat, half-sitting-room, half-bedroom, 
with the bed screened for the day behind gaudy chintz 
curtains, was her only refuge. At every entry of the 
Campobossis she had to put away her writing. She 
went boldly at length into her own room, carrying the 
ink thither, and locked the door. With leisure and 
calm, she set about the task more hopefully. 

She wrote the letter fairly, set her seal upon it, 


240 Zoe the Dancer 


addressed it to Mr Jewell- Brown, and put it ready for 
sending. So it lay on her writing-case for a weary 
time : the ink darkening, the seal biting close, the folds 
taking unalterable form, the superscription showing clear 
and purple whenever the desk was opened : its very 
presence lending an air of connubial propriety and 
respectability to the dainty useless accessories of a 
girl’s treasure box. 


Chapter XXXII 

tells of what is bitter sweet 


H er hand traced no more letters, nor did 
she go in fear of Pian-piano or any other 
man. A sweet restfulness possessed her, 
giving her quiet sleep by night and a 
mind free of cares by day. 

If she had her enemies, she had also her friends. 
Was there not Claire ? Claire seemed so kind, so 
amiable, and her little entourage so pleasant. Take 
Burmance from it and its light was gone. Claire may 
be as kind, as amiable as ever, her circle no less agree- 
able, but Zoe would not find them so. 

She had an insatiable hunger for friendship, in every 
new acquaintance she observed a potential friend. Her 
company widened generously under this regime. 

Burmance was to be her friend even as were Claire 
and her husband. Unwittingly she read into friendship 
much that is more often called by another name. She 
longed, during his absence, to hear his calm voice 
speaking with deep intonation. Delicious bitterness of 
discontent was hers. Let him talk as he would, his very 
tone gave rest ; let him look as he might, the sight of 
him was peace ; but her heart wanted more. Her 
heart was ever alert for more : she held no commune 
with it ; she felt it stirring, bird-like, within her bosom, 
and questioned nothing ; she marvelled at its faint 
joys and its disappointments and left it unrebuked. 


242 


Zo'e the Dancer 


There could be, she felt, such sweet friendship between 
him and her ; perfect faith, perfect liking, without ever 
a thought of a nearer relationship intruding. No heart 
searchings should be theirs, no bitter sorrowing for 
trifles, no angry partings, and therefore, no tender 
reconciliations. A handshake should be their closest 
embrace, a use of the Christian name their fondest 
address, an hour in each other’s company now and then, 
spent in friendly chatter, their greatest pleasure. She 
drew up this programme mentally, reviewed it, was 
vastly pleased with her own judgment, and meditated 
proudly how pleased he would be to find such a mind 
in her. A man, she knew, is always glad to find a woman 
above the sentimental, men hate women to give way 
to their feelings : she did not, to herself, 

specify. 

A sigh, presumably of relief, escaped her when she 
recalled that she was married, that legal state precluding 
all but friendship between her and any other, but she 
approved highly of his singleness. Wisely, she forbore 
again to pause to analyse her reason for that self- 
gratulation. 

A vista of pleasant hours, happy meetings, perfect 
understanding, lay before her mental sight, delighting 
her in lonely moments. A walk taken in his company 
confirmed her notion : his frequent presence (with 
Amalia and the obsequious Campobossi in attendance) 
at the little flat strengthened it yet more. Life lay 
mapped out before them full of quiet joy. Her dance 
was lighter, her look gayer. She could face the pianist 
without fear, and think of the past without pain. 

Amalia guessed and watched — she saw no harm. 


Zoe the Dancer 


243 


Peggy guessed and frowned — slie was alarmed to see. 
Campobossi guessed and smiled, seeing all good. Who 
else should guess but Burmance, and what should he 
do but sigh ? 

He had been content to love her humbly, while she 
was his kind friend. He knew his heart well and, 
manlike, gravely heard its plea before he decided how 
their life should go. While she was his kind friend, 
he was able to act the same part. 

No quiet hours of friendship, no handshake, no bright 
speech should content him more, now that he had seen 
the light of Zoe’s love glowing in her eyes. 

“ I love,” he had said, “ I am hers.” Now his cry 
was : “ She loves : she is mine, mine, mine ! ” 

He had no more faith in himself : he went forthwith 
to the flat, but forbore to ring, turned away, and, fearing 
his own passion, stayed away. The hour of midnight 
led him past the house, and the moon beheld him 
watching the tiny balcony far above the road ; he went 
thither for peace, but in his heart of hearts he suffered. 
A second day came, he repeated the manoeuvre of 
moimting to the door — and going silently away. He had 
strength to deprive himself and her of the joy of meeting. 
A battle waged continually within his mind : his heart 
cried out for her love, his conscience demanded that her 
honour be considered. 

He was waylaid accidentally by Campobossi and 
taken by that good man to the apartment. Zoe met 
him with reproach, openly spoken when the Itahan had 
left them alone. 

“ You said you were coming on Wednesday,” she said, 
“ and after all didn’t. A friend should be faithful,” 


244 Zoe the Dancer 


He turned his face from her, “ I’m not a friend, Zoe,” 
he answered. “ I’m a lover.” 

The silence that fell beween them was inexpressibly 
sweet to her : she nursed the word at her glowing heart, 
her eyes lowered, her cheeks pale. Her valued friend 
was become her lover : kindness was love, service was 
desire : the image of friendship held at arm’s length was 
speedily changed, and its sweet new form was held 
close to her bosom setting her aflame. Her lips refused 
to speak, unless they might cry all dehght, and that 
she denied them : her eyes might not look, but her ears 
listened and heard. 

“ God forgive me, Zoe,” he said, “ I never meant to 
tell you. It was a sin against our friendship.” 

She was still unable to answer, but bravely she raised 
her eyes, dimmed with happy tears. She looked on him 
and wept silently. 

“ Say which it may be, Zoe, love or friendship,” he 
went on. “ It must be love, I can’t tear the beauty and 
the pain of it out of my heart now.” 

For answer she put out her hand. He stood beside 
her and gently raised her face, stooping : she rose to 
him and their kiss was utterly sweet. Zoe dropped her 
arms and freed herself. 

“ It is wrong,” she gave him to consider. He watched 
the colour flowing in her cheek and smiled. 

“Yet nothing else can be right,” he answered. 

“ I can never be yours.” 

; “ You love me,” he stated. 

“ I belong to him.” 

“ That you do not,” he cried. “ You are mine.” 
The phrase recalled his formula : “ While I loved you 


Zoe the Dancer 


245 


I was yours. Now that you love me, you are mine, 
mine, mine.” 

She gave him both hands again for a moment. “ I 
must think,” she said ; “ let me think.” 

He was little afraid of her meditation. He walked 
away to the window for an instant. Released, she was 
free to consider. Her little desk lay on the table : her 
hand strayed to it, unlocked it, took out the fatal letter. 
From his station he watched her fondly, attaching no 
meaning to her action. 

“ I must have a few days,” she said, balancing the 
letter on her hand. 

“ You are mine now, and will be then,” he said, all 
lover at last. The thought drew him to her side again. 

“ Don’t tempt me,” she said. “ Don’t force me. 
I can’t decide — I must let my heart grow calm before 
1 decide. Let me see you no more till I send for you.” 

“ That will be soon,” he smiled, confident in her love. 

“ I shall think often of you,” she assured him. 

“ I know that,” he said, then he grew warm again. 
“ Zoe, let your heart lead you.” 

She grew pale at the idea. That way, she knew, led 
straightway into his arms. He noted her pallor and her 
hesitancy, guessed rightly at their cause, and bravely 
forbore to plead. 

“ I will wait,” he said. “ You are my law ; I will do 
as you bid me. But, 0 Zoe, remember that my heart 
is aflame for you, and have mercy on me.” 

“ I will not forget,” whispered she. 

“ I had hoped you might be ice, that I could thaw 
you,” he went on, “ but I feel the glow of your heart 
here in mine. You are mine.” 


246 Zoe the Dance)' 

“ Come when I write,” said she. The hand of friend- 
ship was outheld, and by him refused. 

“ Your lips, Zoe,” he demanded. 

“ Not again,” cried she, in affright : the touch of his 
mouth would have overcome her. She persisted, he 
gave way. Their hands met, his was very loth to let 
hers go. The long delicious clasp was over. He sighed, 
said nothing, turned away. She recalled him. He 
came in a stride. 

“ Let me at any rate kiss your hair,” he said. 

“No,” she said, firmly. He intended to have his 
way : he took her dainty head between his warm 
strong hands and kissed her silken hair lingeringly. 
Zoe’s heart hungered for more : the letter slipped from 
her fingers. Its fall reminded her of her plight. 

“ Go, my lover,” she said gently, and strove to put a 
calm ending to the scene by giving him the missive to 
post. 

So it happened that Burmance himself took the 
fateful writing forth in his hand and Zoe’s heart within 
his own. 


Chapter XXXIII 

sighs 


A 


LAS for the prestige of the lost lover ! 

This was being loved as a woman desires 
to be. To have one’s kisses asked for is 
delicious ; fine is it also to have them 
torn from one, brute strength is a glorious thing ; but 
how much more magnificent than either is it to obey the 
commanding lover, to resist awhile, to be ordered to 
obey, and to do it. The mean had been skilfully found 
and followed : not implorings, not ravishings, were the 
way with one woman, nor were they the way of one 
man : his manner of wooing was the fashion she had 
with all her inconsistent soul desired. Her capitulation 
was full. 

Zoe’s hand lingered on her hair as she brushed it : 
the touch of her lover’s mouth was yet on it, the sweet 
moistness of his kiss still between her lips. 

One night she spent in vain imaginings, in delicious 
anguish of dreams, no pleasant sleep was hers on this 
occasion : she was in chains, tossing imprisoned. Be- 
tween a kiss and another kiss she roved delightedly for 
a time, to find again and again that beyond those two 
celestial landmarks she might not go. Night’s friendly 
darkness hid her blushes, its quiet enabled her to wander 
in thought through the forbidden way : from heights 
above she looked with his hand in hers : in idea she 
descended into its fertile plains, he ever at her side. 

247 


248 Zo'e the Dancer 

She grew parched, the taste of love on her mouth was 
her torture as well as her joy ; the remembered savour 
of their kiss slaked her thirst, yet set her thirsting afresh. 
All the kisses of life would not have brought satiety to 
her desirous lips. Day broke calmly above her ; she 
remembered in discomfort the dawning of another day 
and how it had started her on foot to the town left over 
night in all joy. This dawn brought no greater hope 
than that : but it was richer, as life should ever after 
be richer, by the memory of two minutes of love’s delight. 

When the dawn hardened to whiteness she rose, 
unrefreshed, knowing the real anguish of love. The 
day was dull and heavy : clouds in profusion threatened 
rain, a sullen calm was in the air : no sun appeared 
to gild the whiteness of the sky. Zoe looked out in 
dismay ; this meant no walk for her. She decided that 
Nature was cruel, but recollected that she had sent 
away her cavalier. She made up her mind to walk 
forth, to weary herself for the coming night. She 
dressed slowly, keeping a look-out at the unchanging sky, 
and sat down when ready at the window, her rosary 
in her hand. She went steadily, with moving lips and 
the devout signs of her occupation, from prayer to prayer. 
Constantly she found herself with her lips in her palm 
where his fingers had clasped it, or surprised herself 
stroking her glossy head where he had kissed it : at 
each interruption she felt her heart heavy as lead ; her 
prayers rose slowly, each interrupted one was begun 
anew. Needlework occupied her hands and eyes : it 
was put aside for a book : the volume was a collection 
of pious thoughts, each intended to be the focus of 
a meditation. Her meditations progressed without 


Zoe the Dancer 


249 


reference to the guide. The noises of day-time rang 
through the house ; she went in to the general meal. 

The hideousness of sin now began to obtrude itself 
vaguely in the pleasaunce of perfect bliss. The Campo- 
bossis marvelled at her gloom, the breakfast hour was 
usually one of light chatter with them, as they sat side 
by side, enjoying their coffee. They overflowed with 
affectionate care for her ; Campobossi revelled in 
attentions of a fidgety sort, he ran to and fro, buttering 
a roll, vociferating for Peggy to reboil the milk, unlock- 
ing the genuine Fourdinois cabinet to get out a box 
of special biscuits. Amalia was calmer, but not less 
attentive. Zoe was glad of the pother, she deprecated 
their fears, but suffered all their attentions, nibbled a 
biscuit, drank the milk as hot as her tongue could bear 
it, and strove to join, with her usual verve, their gay 
and loving chatter. 

She eyed them kindly ; they presented themselves 
to her as a parable ; the illustration of her own need 
seemed to glow in comparison with their relation ; she 
recalled their purity, their honour. No man scorned 
them, they held their high place wherever they went, 
yet they were not married ; Campobossi was still the 
lover. At this reflection Zoe took heart of grace. No 
ties held Amalia ; no husband could chain her ; she was 
unattached elsewhere. Poor Zoe perceived where her 
chief sin should lie. 

She made a mighty pretence of dismissing the subject 
entirely. The kisses returned deliciously reminiscent 
on lip and hair. She saved herself from a complete 
recapitulation of the night’s defection by recalling dis- 
tinctly the feeling of Pian-piano’s undesired embrace ; 


250 


Zoe the Dancer 


she found the interpolation successful. The cool 
suavity of Burmance’s kiss was, after all, not very differ- 
ent from the burning shame of Pian-piano’s. By un- 
tiring watching and sudden surprises she kept the 
sweeter aspect of the situation from her sight, recalling 
Wychthwaite, Pian-piano, her Duty, her Honour, in 
short, all the abstract and concrete bugbears that her 
lively conscience bestirred itself to suggest. 

She watched the afternoon draw on with trepidancy ; 
and was still undecided whether to risk meeting him in 
a walk even up to the buttoning of her second glove. 
Commending her own bravery, and feeling sure of her 
own strength, she went forth, resolved to take another 
way if he should be waiting. The new itinerary led 
her in roads parallel to the usual one, skirting squares 
generally crossed. At every point where her route 
coincided with the daily walk, she was alert for sight 
of the — Undesired. He remained unseen, and, sick at 
heart, she left her Eden with wandering steps and slow. 

A fear arose that he was as gentlemanly as her husband ; 
this convenient comparison did wonders in quickening 
her step. The returning passion was stopped brusquely. 
She swallowed the dose with a twitching mouth and 
climbed her stairs without another pause. 

Burmance, having followed her every step of the way 
and watched her manoeuvres, went morosely home, 
cursing himself for an obedient fool. 

His beloved mounted, in dull mood, to her flat. Peggy 
announced Mrs Jewell- Brown to be waiting. 

“ Mister,” said Zoe, aghast at the immediate success 
of her note. 

“ It’s a lady,” Peggy persisted. 


Zoe the Dancer 


251 


“ A lady ? Old ? ” 

“ No. Will you see her ? ” said Peggy. 

“ What’s she like ? ” 

“ Been waiting nearly an hour, that she has.” 

“ What is she like ? ” 

“ 0, little. Pretty. Deceitful,” said Peggy, whose 
nose was elevated. 

“ We’re all that,” sighed Zoe, contemplating her own 
performances in that line. “ I will go in.” 

Mrs Jewell- Brown was exceedingly pretty, and when 
she stood, far from tall ; so warm in manner was she, 
also, that Zoe admitted the probability of the deceit. 
The interview began awkwardly enough. 

“ You wrote to my husband,” was a good beginning, 
but like the “ dear sir ” of commerce it suggested little 
further. Zoe was at a loss for words. She felt kindly 
disposed towards the diminutive lady, believing her lot 
to be as unhappily cast as her own. She thought her 
visitor must be the dupe of her husband at best ; more 
probably a disillusioned wife. Kemembering her own 
unhappy experience of matrimony, she shuddered ; 
Jewell- Brown she knew to have some generous impulses. 
He^s not, at any rate, all had, she reflected. But she 
considered what evil she knew of him to be sufficiently 
damning to warrant a feeling of fellowship for his wife. 

“ He was very glad to have your letter,” Mrs Jewell- 
Brown went on, “ I hope you’ll — well, I’d better be just 
as frank as — anyhow, you must stop me if I should ? ” 

“ Pray be candid with me,” Zoe begged. “ This is a 
matter for directness, I think. The facts are known to 
you, no doubt.” 

“ My^dear Mrs Wychthwaite, most sad ! ” cried the 


252 


Zoe the Dancer 


visitor. “ Herbert and I talked it over togeth— you 
donH mind my knowing I hope ? A woman, you 
know ? ” 

“ I feel that Mr Jewell- Brown has done very wisely,” 
Zoe commented. 

The discourse that followed was listened to earnestly 
by her, but it left her unmoved. Taking for her text 
the great forces of Time and Patience (with occasional 
references to duty and The Thivug^ a mystic element 
which most of Zoe’s actions seemed not to have been), 
the little lady held forth at some length, but with 
amazing incoherency. She worked herself up by her 
own eloquence to a height of sincerity that carried Zoe 
along from time to time, out of gratitude to the little 
creature, who seemed genuinely anxious to adjust the 
painful affair. Friendship for Wychthwaite and sym- 
pathy for his wife, she declared to be her motives. Zoe 
began to be desperately hopeful that something might 
be arranged before she sank from this high pitch of 
potential virtue. By excluding all memory of Wych- 
thwaite’s sin and figuring to herself his personality when 
he was the wooer she was able to follow the snatches 
of argument quoted in turn by her visitor, without 
enthusiasm, it is true, but also certainly without 
repulsion. 

Moral right, one reason ran, demanded her return. 
The words of the Doctor and Brother Frederic on that 
tragic morn years ago, from which this interview arose, 
returned to her with full force : the sight of Law and 
Religion rising in unassailed majesty above the toTO 
to illustrate their meaning : she remembered and was 
moved. Memory would not conveniently stay at that. 


Zo'e the Dancer 


253 


backward and forward, shuttlewise, it went, bearing ber 
with it : she recalled the look of the swinish husband, 
she was carried through the suite of that morning : 
pain and disgust were made clear to her as though 
they were new. Mentally she was torn asunder. She 
hearkened to the pattering eloquence of Mrs Jewell- 
Brown, and made an effort to comprehend : she battled 
furiously : purity differed from what was right. To be 
pure, she must sin : to do right, she must sacrifice her 
cleanness. 

The course of the various arguments, many of them, 
by chance, sound, brought them to a point where nothing 
was proven, but friendship became possible. The tone 
was noticeably warmer ; greater concessions were made 
in both minds ; an adjustment seemed highly probable. 
It was the unfortunate fate of Zoe that events should 
happen as she had half-heartedly intended. She found 
herself weakly doing what she beheved to be right and 
hoping ardently that something would interfere to 
prevent its completion. The many conventions insisted 
on repeatedly by Mrs Jewell- Brown began, by reason 
of their frequency, to appear just and proper : equity 
seemed incarnate in the person of the dainty little 
woman. Zoe thought her experience enormous, her 
impartiality miraculous. She credited Mr Jewell- Brown 
with great sense in sending his wife. 

Yet she confided nothing in the creature, no admissions 
were made, although leading questions were put and 
every underhand attempt was made to extract informa- 
tion. What filled Zoe’s heart and mind never would 
be spoken. She might, if fervour urged, in a moment 
of great abandonment, whisper in a confessor’s ear the 


254 


Zoe the Dancer 


very thoughts that were of themselves a sin : but she 
was cold at heart ; none but human aid would she seek, 
and to human creature she would not show her soul. 

The chatter brought more clearly the idea of “ arrange- 
ment ” to view : the bugbear she so openly sought. 
Suggestions were wide-cast, notions were lavishly 
evoked. The end of the interview loomed in sight, and 
for that reason, Mrs Jewell-Brown dared to become 
very familiar. 

“ My dearest Mrs Wychthwaite,” she said, “ I’m so 
glad you’re beginning to realise — ^to see that you owe — 
you are going, I am sure, to try — now, will you ? Will 
you come to us for a while ? To us, you know. And of 
course, see plenty of — well, fun, life, all that : Mr 
Wychthwaite’s set. We’d go — go to Paris. What do 

you think ? Do you know ? You don’t ? It 

will be lovely for you.” 

Zoe was exceedingly patient ; understanding loomed 
through. 

“ I don’t know about leaving the town,” she demurred, 
“ I only want to try, to make sure of my mind before I 
decide to return to him.” 

“ Oh, you must leave the town,” cried Mrs Jewell- 
Brown, “You don’t think enough about appear- 
ances. That is what really counts. It pays to think 
of how it looks. Living apart like this, it’s not the 
Thing.” 

“ You are very good,” said Zoe, vaguely. “ I should 
like to do what is best.” 

“ You see, you might be — ^you are doubted,” said 
Mrs Jewell- Brown. 

“ Doubted ! ” Zoe took up. “ By whom ? ” 


Zo'e the Dancer 


255 


“ By everyone, by your husband, by your friends, by 
your audience, your public. You are in a high position, 
you are well known.” 

“ By my friends, never,” said Zoe, quietly. “ Friend- 
ship is trust. Those I honour respect me because I can 
honestly respect myself. In that I am at peace.” 

“ Oh, I wouldn’t for worlds ! ” cried Mrs Jewell- 

Brown. “ You quite misunderstand — How can you 
think — I don’t want to say anything that may wound 
you. But I wish you would come to me,” she added 
a moment later inconsequentially. 

Zoe went to the tiny balcony for a moment’s thought : 
she stood on it in full view of the street. Burmance, 
slowly parading below with his eyes fixed on that point, 
was at length rewarded : his day was well spent. Zoe 
met his glance, they bowed, he paused, but she made 
no further sign. He strode slowly away, rejoiced at his 
sight. Zoe went in. 

“ Thank you, I will come,” she said, with a grave 
face. “ It ts for the best. I will strive to like my 
husband. He will come with us to Paris ? ” 

“ Of course,” cried Mrs Jewell- Brown. Her cheeks 
were crimson : it meant Paris for her, it meant new 
robes for her, pleasures without end for her, and it 
meant also Wychthwaite for her. She clapped her 
hands, girlishly. “ Paris ! ” she cried. 

Zoe’s conscience had been rendered doubly active, 
although she would not for the wealth of Grolconda have 
admitted it, by the subtle belief that she was in a position 
to be doubted, a belief born of the incident that led to 
the sending of Mr Jewell- Brown’s letter, and grown 
mature at the lady’s words. Night had brought her 


256 


Zoe the Dancer 


such rigorous self-examination : she accepted this cruel 
suggestion without further comment : she dared not let 
day’s garish light into the chambers of her soul. There 
was no foundation in Mrs Jewell- Brown’s expression. 
Her sole enemy at the theatre had, it is true, “ doubted ” ; 
she ignored him wisely, he was built awry, honour was 
unknown to him. Her public was uniquely loyal, her 
action with regard to Wychthwaite had won attention 
for her, her straightforward life since that date had 
gained and kept respect. Where none assailed, few 
surely could doubt : belittlement of her virtue in men’s 
minds would not stay at the mental process. She could 
not have lived so unattacked in a general atmosphere 
of degrading opinion. But her mind was tinder to 
the spark of Kitty Jewell-Brown’s inchoate objection : 
it was immediately fired. The sight of the greatly 
desired at another moment might have led her to answer 
very differently ; at that crucial point, it served to 
illustrate what she was pleased to consider her danger. 
The word, mentally expressed, was enough to set her in a 
state of trepidancy. She held the night’s struggle as 
nothing, its duration insignificant, the decision arising 
from it trivially obtained ; in this new perspective, her 
danger ’ ’ was exaggerated. She shrank from it in alarm. 

Burmance went on, and the answer was given. In- 
credibly swiftly all was arranged for Zoe’s sojourn 
abroad : it was clear that the matter had all been made 
ready before her consent was gained. Once the word 
had been given, Zoe was no longer a free agent : not even 
an instrument : a chattel was the term. Wlien Mrs 
Jewell- Brown went away, the very time of the train 
was settled. 


Zoe the Dancer 


257 


Zoe, left to herself, reflected on the business-like 
character of the affair with complacency, fondly believing 
herself to be responsible for the sensible and calm fashion 
in which the conversation had been conducted. She 
set busily about preparations, deeming it sager not to 
reflect in other directions. Her wardrobe was inspected, 
she made notes of what she should need. On subsequent 
journeyings through the sitting room, the slip of paper 
bearing the hour of the train began to annoy her. She 
was ready to weep. The Campobossis came in. Tedious 
was the explanation that had to follow ; they listened, 
approved, and wisely left her alone. She had the flat 
to herself again. An interview with her manager took 
place in the evening : Zoe deplored his complaisance, 
he admitted her right to a holiday : unbaulked yet 
baffled she returned to another sleepless night. As 
during its forerunner again she tossed, wept again ; 
more than once she lit her candle to see if the 
paper were really by her side, marked with the 
hour of the train : at each undesired reassurance 
she sank back in the restored darkness, heavy at 
heart. 

When morning had calmed her anew, she wrote to 
Burmance, in the most abstractly friendly vein : she 
stated her plans, and, while begging him to forget her 
behaviour of such and such a day (when she had been 
mistaken with respect to a feeling she had believed in 
at the time, but, later, discovered to be non-existent), 
she assured him she was always his sincere friend. 
Rather too abstract and too friendly the letter must 
have been : Burmance read it for what it was worth 
and forthwith flung it on the fire. Insincerity was black 
R 


258 


Zo'e the Dancer 


in every scratch, of it and he was rejoiced to see it. The 
letter he sent in reply ignored the tone and accepted the 
information patiently ; he begged for her address, and 
in a burst of passionate love-making at the end gave 
her to understand that she was his already, in spite of 
all the mediators in the world, aye, and all the husbands. 
He feared nothing from the visit, and did not scruple 
to tell her so. Magnificent trust in her love for him 
was his : far more than the eloquence of Kitty it bore 
Zoe along. She penned another note in warmer vein 
to give him her future address, but she was firm to set 
his term of probation until a late day. That he was so 
confident of her decision at the expiration of that time 
was a secret delight to her. Here was a lover knowing 
his mistress’s heart better than she knew it herself, 
daring to express the passion that burned in her, whereas 
she feared to give it speech. His last letter exceeded 
the former one in love : it set Zoe’s heart fluttering ; 
alas for human opportunities ! Had he boldly stepped 
in that day she would have run tremblingly into his 
arms and never left them. Duty, undesirable mentor, 
stood before them. They peeped round its ugly shape, 
each eyeing the lovely vista beyond, and were afraid 
to pass it. 

Zoe held her letter to the candle, but withdrew it, 
scorched at the edge : it was not meant for incineration ; 
its lot was a happier one, hid in her bosom, where the 
touch of it gave her peace. It bade her come to him, 
and she meant to obey it. He agreed to the term she 
had decided upon, and told her that if she had made 
no sign before twelve midnight of that day, he should 
go away, definitely and for ever go away. He left her 


Zo'e the Dancer 259 

no choice : she asked for none. She meant to go, as 
surely as he expected her. 

Meanwhile it pleased her to make an apparent effort 
to come to some arrangement with the lawful spouse. 
With Burmance’s written passion at her heart, she faced 
the dangers of the experiment unflinchingly. 


Chapter XXXIV 

takes all a- journeying 


T he sight of the train unnerved Zoe, who 
had never travelled in one. Furtively she 
stretched a hand to Peggy; the woman 
took it gladly, and together they clung, 
unobserved, watching the monster of engineering as it 
steamed quietly along the platform. Peggy recalled, 
mentally, sundry amazing illusions of the days of in- 
sobriety, into which this abominable construction might 
more fitly have entered than into the delicate departure 
of a lady. She was thankful of her lady’s hand held 
tightly under their twin shawls. 

Zoe was bidden mount : Peggy helped her and then 
began deliberately to climb herself, 

“ Oh, your servant doesn’t come ! ” cried Mrs Jewell- 
Brown. 

“ Yes,” Zoe declared, full of dismay. Wychthwaite 
repulsed the ascending Peggy. 

“ No, no, we can get you a natty girl in Paris.” 

“ Come in, Peggy,” said Zoe. 

“ No, Mr Wychthwaite is right,” she was told. “ You 
shall have a new maid later on.” 

“ What ! ” cried Zoe. “ Am I not to have 
Peggy ? ” 

“ I think it’s wiser not,” said Mrs Jewell- 
Brown. 

“ Certainly not,” said Wychthwaite. 


260 


Zoe the Dancer 


261 


Amid the jeers of the vulgar, Peggy was dislodged 
and firmly handed down. Zoe stared blankly : con- 
sternation overcame her at the idea of losing her only 
friend : she could not bear to contemplate the starting 
of the train, taking her away with these people 
whom she feared and the husband she abhorred. The 
sight of Peggy, looking not unlike a penguin on the 
platform, divided from her, illustrated her helpless- 
ness. She sprang out recklessly. Wychthwaite 
followed. 

“ I won’t go,” cried Zoe. “ I will not ! ” 

“ Nonsense, you shall ! ” he affirmed, and seized her 
arm : she struggled. 

“ Hurt me,” she said, “ and I’ll have all the town 
about me in a minute ! ” Peggy added to the picturesque 
effect of this apparent abduction by clasping her lady 
full round the waist and standing like a rock. Kitty 
in the carriage, biting her lip, could have wept for 
vexation. She cried to Zoe not to be silly, not to be so 
silly, to try not to be so silly. The tableau persisted 
until Jewell-Brown thought fit to come along that way. 
He was strolling easily when the marvellous group 
caught his eye : it quickened his pace. Zoe felt sure 
of his chivalry. 

“ They say I’m to come without my servant,” she 
cried, desperately. “ I can’t ! ” 

“ Of course not,” he said cheerfully. “ You shall 
take her. I understood that. In you all get ! ” He 
helped Peggy himself, standing bravely below while 
she clambered breathlessly into the compartment that 
held her lady ; she was wedged in beside Zoe ; poly- 
gonal parcels were tucked in here and there to keep 


262 Zoe the Dancer 


the party from displacement when the train should 
attain speed, and they were off. 

The hours were very long in the carriage. Kitty 
grumbled, scented her handkerchief, used smelling- 
salts, fanned herself, tried to doze. Wychthwaite 
stared at the three women in turn, his gaze resting 
longest on Zoe. Peggy snored, volcanically : she pre- 
sented her least prepossessing appearance to the 
occasional stare of Wychthwaite. Words reminiscent 
of past struggles with her ecclesiastical relation escaped 
her iu slumber. When she woke, she glowered at the 
hasty landscapes, angry to be, by them, reminded of 
the day when she had travelled, expeditiously and in 
undignified pose, through the cloisters of the Fraternity. 
This panorama of hills, fields and towns was not unlike 
the fieeting vision which marked that memorable 
exit. Dozing or awake, she preferred to close her 
eyes. 

Zoe felt no inclination to rest. All was new to her. 
She and Mr Jewell-Brown talked; ere long they had 
become quite friendly ; he pointed out amusing sights 
as they went along ; she was the only one who chose 
to be amused. Keserve became tedious, she held on to 
it awhile grudgingly, and at last allowed it to slip 
altogether. Eesolutely she had put the image of 
Burmance from her : at its frequent return she would 
not look upon it. Now in the hurly-burly of the train 
and the gaiety of Jewell-Brown’s chatter, she found 
relief from its bitter sweetness. While she laughed 
and talked, the memory of her lover was completely 
effaced. Jewell-Brown began to tease Zoe about her 
accent : she retaliated by mocking his halting French. 


Zo'e the Dancer 


263 


She found in him the rollicking good nature of Joseph, 
not deep or thoughtful, but “ great fun.” 

Everything is so new ! ” she cried in delight, as the 
country revealed the dignity of its landscapes before 
her eyes. 

“ It’s you who are so new,” Jewell-Brown assured 
her. “This kind of thing, I can vouch for, is very 
very old.” 

Occasionally Kitty threw in a peevish word; her 
irritation affected Zoe not at all. At the passing of 
a little village, artistically complete, steeple, mill, 
parsonage, white ribbon of road and all, snugly set 
into a frame of tilth, she clapped her hands and 
laughed. 

“Lovely, lovely,” she cried, joyously. “Can there 
be places so pretty ? ” 

“English villages are prettier, to my mind,” Jewell 
Brown rejoined. “But you don’t know England. 
Why, what a lot you’ve got to learn ! Travel in the 
country there, on horseback for preference : you turn 
a corner, and see the red homesteads embedded in 
fields. And the fields too, have a gentler inclination : 
the swell about the hills: no sudden scarps, and also 
none of these flat arid acres. All is gently undulating, 
like a sea.” 

“ Prettier than this,” Zoe demurred. 

“By far,” he insisted, “by far. You must see 
England in the Spring. Hawthorns budding to their 
own scent : pollen flying from the firs : birds all one 
sweet voice : the grass begemmed in loveliness of 
flowers. What better habitation for love in the 
Spring ? ” 


264 Zo'e the Dancer 

The word recalled the lover ; Zoe smiled and sighed. 
Silence fell ; Kitty threw a contemptuous glance at 
her husband : he flushed painfully. Long past were 
his days of rhapsody. Kitty could not bear to hear 
“ nonsense ” talked. Wychthwaite frowned tentatively, 
wishing he could command his lady’s attention as 
readily as Jewell-Brown seemed to do. Zoe perceived 
the calm, she roused herself and strove to regain her 
earlier tone of raillery. The two were all laughter 
again ; Kitty still curled her lip, Wychthwaite 
mused. 

He stared at her : his old infatuation was far from 
being abated. This new spectacle of her, bright, 
enthusiastic, dimpling into smiles at a word, inflamed 
him. Ko less did her sudden gravity and serious- 
ness, when the laughter was done. He was the 
lover at heart ; her brilliancy was new to him, 
he had not known her frivolous ; the revelation 
was a fillip to him. His long admiring wonder- 
ing stare became fixed. Zoe caught his eye, and 
was forcibly reminded of his fatuous look on their 
miserable wedding night. Kitty saw their looks 
meet and feared that an understanding might result : 
she grumbled and fidgeted, her hopes low. She 
felt irritated, and chafed at being secondarily con- 
sidered. 

The day drew on ; the party lunched in the carriage, 
at a convenient hour. Zoe and Jewell-Brown shared 
a serviette across their knees: Wychthwaite was 
obliged to serve Kitty : while she brightened, he 
sulked. The meal finished, they dosed and chatted 
again. 


Zo'e the Dancer 265 


“ What a thing travel is ! ” Peggy cried, lifting her 
sleepy lady out. “I’ve seen more cows to-day than 
in all my life before.” 

Paris could not equal this. They yawned them- 
selves in silence to the hotel. 


Chapter XXXV 

brings in the lover and, sends him off again 


P ARIS produced its fairest weather for the 
stranger within its gates. Under cloudless 
skies, Zoe traversed the wonderful avenues 
and parks, watching the traffic of the 
streets, and the gliding pageant of the river. 

Kitty Jewell-Brown’s Paris was a social one; visits 
and drives in company made up its days, varied by 
incursions into shops, where hours might be spent, 
profitably for the mercer. Prills and furbelows ap- 
pealed to Zoe : it took some time to tire her of these 
shopping expeditions, but at last she did grow weary. 
Kitty, with the energy that replaced sense in her, 
could have sat for ever watching the shop-girls parade, 
and without tiring, have daily communings with sleek 
men behind the counters. To Zoe the sight of mincing 
damsels, in borrowed attire, recalled the statelier 
mien of Lalage, in that occupation. She would sit at 
Kitty’s side, ejaculating at need her admiration of the 
costumes displayed, while at heart the dread depression 
that had once assailed her weighed her down. 

Kitty was capricious, but not so in the worst degree. 
A long time pondering, and not easily pleased, she 
certainly was, but Zoe was spared the disgrace of 
leaving a shop after several hours’ sojourn, without 
having bought the worth of a half-penny. On the 
contrary, lavish expenditure was Mrs Jewell-Brown’s 


Zoe the Dancer 267 


pleasure every day. Zoe bought when she needed, 
Kitty bought as long as she had the money. 

It was a principle of Kitty’s social code never to 
go twice to the same house in the same head-gear. 
Zoe had two bonnets, an every day one and a best ; 
she was obliged to buy more. She sighed at the ex- 
penditure that Kitty indulged in, nearly wept at this 
new outlay. 

After wearying days of this kind the evenings were 
no more restful : parties of whist, music, conversation, 
literature, games, dinner succeeded each other. The 
life was entirely new to Zoe, for a while she sipped its 
sweets with joy. She lived in an atmosphere of best 
clothes : if they were not engaged at a friend’s they 
expected company at home. She would have gladly 
enough spent her evenings in this fashion, if the days 
had been her own. She pleaded for change of the 
mornings in vain : Kitty knew of no other occupation ; 
she met Zoe’s protest with a stare and a shrug. Zoe 
suggested visiting picture galleries. Good-naturedly 
enough, Mrs Jewell-Brown drove her the next day to 
the Louvre, entered with her; at the end of fifteen 
minutes, she made it clear that her duty was at an end. 
There was nothing to see in the Louvre. 

Zoe rebelled, a second day she went on foot. 
Wychthwaite offered to accompany her. She accepted 
him, and tired him out. An hour of martyred saints 
and demigods, minus skin, tongue or limbs, sickened 
him. He lolled about, beat his foot with his cane, 
yawned surreptitiously and reflected what a deuced 
blood-thirsty lot the chaps of old used to be. He had 
no liking for pictures, and said so. He loved Zoe in 


268 Zoe the Dancer 


his fashion, but was not allowed to say that. In the 
quieter rooms, which Kitty had in horror eschewed, he 
ventured on tender speeches ; Zoe met them civilly, so 
much so that they died of inanition. 

The third morning of her quest of art discovered 
Peggy to be her attendant. With that solid bulwark to 
support her, she spent her mornings in the great galleries 
before the great pictures, greatly bored. Every one 
was at ease : Zoe was alone ; Kitty was free to run from 
milliner to milliner ; Wychthwaite had done his duty ; 
Jewell-Brown had no immediate interest ; Peggy was 
overjoyed to be in constant company of her dear lady. 
Paris now became to the servant a place of real interest, 
not a city of painted dames, gallant loafers and super- 
cilious servants. She sat in stout vigilance while Zoe, 
her thoughts elsewhere, stepped from picture to picture, 
or sank in abstraction before some canvas. Art did 
not appeal to Peggy ; descents from the Cross and Holy 
Families evoked prayers and crossings : she wondered 
why on earth the rooms were not furnished. She gazed 
for the most part at the attendants whom she took for 
soldiers out of employment, or eyed warily the males 
that circulated in the same rooms. Never a wink of 
sleep did she take, although Nature cried for it. No 
man approached her lady without her angry stare upon 
him. Innocent students, harmless foreigners and idle 
strollers caught the warning eye before they had 
observed the young lady whom perhaps they elbowed : 
more than one was disconcerted on those occasions 
without an idea of his crime. Vigilance unwinking she 
conceived to be her duty. Zoe remained therefore 
unattacked and also ignorant of the glare that encom- 


Zoe the Dancer 269 


passed her. Her peace was intense; Peggy, only to 
observe it, was herself rejoiced. Freed from the duties 
of civility, attention and enthusiasm, which being with 
Mrs J ewell-Brown had necessitated, she had opportunities 
for reflection and repose. During this process she 
considered the pros and cons of Wychthwaite’s case; 
earnestly and diligently did she try to keep his good 
points before her ; another’s intervened always ; where 
she should have admired the husband, she wandered 
and adored the lover. The pleasant vision displaced 
the other always. She was honest in her efforts, but 
she greatly rejoiced to find them vain. The pictures 
were all of Burmance, unless, cruel memory triumphing, 
the sight of Wychthwaite on her wedding night arose 
framed in heavy gold before her on the walls. She 
sighed blissfully from time to time, recalling with zest 
her loneliness. She loved to be solitary. 

There were more reasons than one for her desire to 
be apart from her hostess. The discovery came soon 
that the men were not the only delinquents from severe 
virtue in that household. Careless, lively, and gallant 
beyond reason Jewell-Brown most certainly was, com- 
bining the prankishness of a boy of eighteen with the 
elegancies of a man of forty. Idleness was his besetting 
sin ; nothing mattered to his indolence : he was soft 
clay in the hands of whomsoever chose to mould him. 
Evil had been his earliest teaching, and profiting by it 
with the support of his unstable companions he made a 
very good imitation of a bold, bad man. Had his boy- 
hood been spent among virtuous and serious souls, he 
would have become as fair a semblance of a valued 
member of society. There was no greatness in him, 


270 Zo’e the Dancer 


but his mediocrity saved him from being really harm- 
ful. Indolently he lived the life his fellows indicated : 
love, hate, despair, all of the deep passions were un- 
known to him. The Devil himself would have passed 
him over with a shrug as stony ground. Zoe found 
him an ally ; she formed no idea of his real character ; 
she believed him to be a piratical pursuer of dames and 
hoped to reform him. What was admirable in him 
found an admirer in her. There was little else to 
admire in the whole party but his genuine good nature, 
his constant cheerfulness, his willingness to be 
commanded. The club was his headquarters. Zoe 
met him rarely alone, but whenever they did meet, 
real friendliness made their chatter pleasant to her. 
They touched on nothing profound ; he would have 
been drowned beyond all hope had they done so. 
Shallowly they talked of ephemeral subjects, but always 
gaily and always without rancour, Zoe was appalled to 
discover that he “ believed in nothing.” 

“Why,” she cried, “that’s worse than being a 
Protestant.” 

“ What do you believe ? ” he inquired. 

She hesitated to speak devoutly, fearing ridicule. 
He was kind and serious: she ventured timidly to 
invite him to attend public worship with her. He saw 
her earnestness and accompanied her to church. 

“ Do you believe all that ? ” he asked on their way 
home. “ Keally, truly, do you ? Come now, do 
you ? ” 

“ Certainly I do,” Zoe said. “ And you should also,” 
she added tentatively later. 

“Oh, I don’t stand a dog’s chance,” he averred. 


Zo'e the Dancer 


271 


“ It’s my belief I’d bleed black if you ran a knife in 
my heart.” 

Her success with him enheartened her. She was 
bold to suggest attendance at mass to Wychthwaite. 
She was met with uproarious mirth. The tone of civil 
friendliness that her husband for the most part affected 
was dropped. She went away abashed, preferring Mr 
Jewell -Brown’s shallowness and disbelief. 

Kitty she dared not ask : ignorant and debased the 
husband might be, but the wife was worse: she was 
impure in thought and word. It could not be said that 
she offended by actual pruriency of mind, but from 
living always for herself and looking in her otiose 
fashion from the outside of things, she had adopted 
ideas that were not wholesome. Her conversation was 
neither bright nor clean, in general ; she was not held 
to transgress by the use of words or expressions because 
her associates were all of the same mind. They eyed 
the broad truths of life from a corner, seeing all in a 
distorted perspective. Virtue was, in Kitty’s sincere 
belief, a show; to be wholly virtuous was to be 
exceedingly careful. Truth was unknown in the circle 
within which she moved : honour nothing but a name 
to be often invoked and oftener disregarded : righteous- 
ness but another word for cant : all that was pure and 
holy and good to be scoffed at and derided. 

If Jewell-Brown felt amused at the ceremonial in the 
churches whither our devout lady led him, he had the 
distinct grace to mock neither at the time nor later. 
Kitty and Wychthwaite, awaiting entertainment, were 
sadly undone : they chose to believe he had not been to 
church. The fun had failed them : by his abstention 


272 


Zoe the Dancer 


from raillery Jewell-Brown had saved himself from a 
taunt that might have clung for ever. His wife and 
Wychthwaite would have delighted to spread the story. 

“ Been to church again ? ” would have become a catch- 
word, by constant misuse and iteration considered at 
last to be wit. All this he was spared. 

The wife, to console herself for the lack of this 
humorous sally, ran to and fro in the shops, happier 
since Zoe had left the tedious process of gazing at silks 
to pursue the deadly occupation of staring at canvases ; 
her attendant now was Wychthwaite, willing enough to 
sit by and become enthusiastic when stuffs were unrolled 
before his eyes. The previous procedure had been little 
drive, much shop ; this was reversed, much drive, little 
shop was the order, and the intervals, spent tete-k- 
t§te in Kitty’s elegant victoria, were pleasing to both. 
Wychthwaite knew Kitty to be worthless : he cared 
for her as little as for a butterfly ; but she amused, she 
occupied him, she could be very charming to a man. 
There were little tricks of hers that pleased : when a 
bright gown was displayed, she would seize her com- 
panion’s hand in joy ; when a foolish thing was said by 
a friend at the carriage side, her foot would steal to 
Wychth Waite’s and gently tread on his. Side-glances 
were a strong point with her, she drove them in at every 
possible moment. At evening she would ask if Zoe 
were not yet tired of the stuffy old pictures, gladly 
laughing when assured that they still pleased. Every 
day that Zoe chose to wander alone meant for Kitty 
a further time in Wychthwaite’s society. 

A morning in the dreariest and stuffiest of galleries 
was drawing to a close. Zoe looked at her watch, took 


Zo'e the Dancer 


273 


her first comprehensive look at the old masters and 
signalled to Peggy to follow. The good woman refused 
to see. Zoe made her way to the centre of the room, 
where solemnly enthroned on crimson velvet, Peggy 
had sat ; like a dog that chooses to be naughty, Peggy 
marched off in the opposite direction, Zoe pursued; 
Peggy lumbered on. Zoe could proceed no further ; 
her way was blocked by a gentleman into whom she 
had run full tilt, too intent on securing her servant to 
take account of intermediate bodies. Now raising her 
eyes to his face in apology, she saw Burmance. Hours 
before the pictures had been occupied with his image, 
with the reality before her she did not believe her eyes. 

“I have startled you, I am afraid,” he said. “Pd 
watched you so long, forgetting you had not seen me.” 

“ You are real then ? ” Zoe said. 

“ Quite real. Can I have my answer, Zoe 1 ” 

She brushed her cheek with her fingers in meditation, 
looking at him. With her glance in his, she was ready 
to go to him at once ; her conscience pricked her un- 
mercifully when she averted her eyes ; it had been 
sorely exercised by frequent churchgoing. 

“ You are come too soon,” she said. 

“ Too soon,” he echoed, ruefully. 

“ For our agreement,” she hastened to add. She led 
the way to Peggy’s late seat. 

“ I beckoned to your woman to go,” Burmance said. 
Zoe loved Peggy for her complaisance. They sat in 
happy silence, their eyes meeting ; a word softly dropped 
from her lips or his their only talk. Love was 
rigorously excluded from these infrequent ejaculations, 
and nothing else was spoken of. Sighing, they had at 

s 


274 Zoe the Dancer 


last to part, each remembering with a glow the fashion 
of their last good-bye. She looked away ; he proved 
his strength by gazing at her while he held her hand, 
but he had little to say ; she got her hand away quite 
crushed by the loving pressure of his fingers. 

“ Until the fifteenth,” was her word. It made him 
triumphant. 

“ If then, why not now, my Zoe ? ” he cried. She 
shook her head. 

“ You must go away till then,” she said. “ Go to the 
country.” 

He left her in Peggy’s charge and went to Fontaine- 
bleau, where he stayed for one day. Paris held his 
lodestone, he could not rove among the trees. 

Zoe was weary to death of the desolate martyrs. She 
returned, unwelcomed, to Kitty’s side. Again she 
suffered the silly monotony of her occupations ; again 
shops, dressmakers, drives and expenditure filled her 
days. The frivolity of such an existence had much to 
recommend it. Zoe could not think of Burmance : the 
empty business of pleasure entirely occupied her mind, 
she was often with Wychthwaite, she had perforce to 
consider him. He had become Kitty’s tame cat. 
Kumour gave him another title. He submitted to her 
bullyings and pettings without rebellion. Zoe, not apt 
at perceiving sin, was amazed to note the licence with 
which he and Kitty addressed each other : they had a 
variety of phrases and expressions which conveyed 
nothing to her mind, much to theirs : they conversed, 
as it were, in a cypher, to which she was not privy. 
She began to understand the danger of Kitty’s light- 
ness, the evil of Wychthwaite’s complaisance. They 


Zoe the Dancer 275 

excluded her frankly from much of their chatter, she 
was made to feel that she was one too many. Bravely 
she endured, for Jewell-Brown’s sake. In the victoria 
Wychthwaite faced Kitty, and Zoe became aware that 
their feet signalled when lips were silent. She was 
hot with disgust ; cold, the moment after, with 
apprehension. 

Wychthwaite’s advances to herself had ceased. He 
had not cared to woo a statue, when Kitty was by. 
His earlier respectful advances, easily repulsed, had 
almost entirely ceased, he sued no more for reinstate- 
ment. Zoe for her part unbent no more to him. The 
constant companionship had failed of its effect : seeing 
him daily in the hideousness of his behaviour with 
Kitty, Zoe grew afraid and wary. At heart she was 
glad to know him evil, no possibility of arrangement 
suggested itself to her. 

She became aware, with a certain pride, that if her 
choice lay between living with him and death, self- 
murder should be her lot. Her own strength, thus 
revealed to her, amazed her ; she reflected, saw in this 
manifestation of will the greater force of her lover and 
was content. She recognised clearly now that Kitty’s 
sedatives. Time and Patience, were not intended to 
make matters better : it was evident that in bringing 
Zoe to Paris, Mrs Jewell-Brown had thought only of 
herself. Time and Patience she had preached ; Time, 
Zoe feared, might make the affair more serious; 
Patience she believed to be a sin against her own 
purity. 

The behaviour Wychthwaite had affected at the 
beginning of her stay had changed noticeably. He 


276 Zo'e the Dancer 


lacked respect, grew familiar, disregarded her presence 
as often as not, Zoe double-locked her already barricaded 
heart and endured. The secret conversation the two 
had indulged in when she was present had startled her 
and made her suspicious : they grew bold, cypher was 
not used, Wychthwaite spoke freely, Kitty vulgarly : 
an air of understanding each other very well was clear 
to the keen observer. Zoe grew timid as their courage 
increased : she believed, doubted, was at a loss. So 
little of life did she know, so much of girlish frolic 
made up her experience, that she could not measure the 
extent of the iniquity daily before her eyes. The tone 
of its not over-delicate raillery which they adopted on 
excursions was dropped in Jewell-Brown’s hearing. 
He yawned himself away to his club for the most part. 
The door would hardly have closed on him before one 
or other would express some coarseness. Zoe blushed 
often, more frequently grew cold at heart at their talk. 
Their society was hard to bear. She looked wistfully 
at J ewell-Brown, desiring his presence ; he went away 
unobservant. When he sat at table with them or went 
abroad in their company, she could be gay ; he was her 
safeguard, since the day she had won him by her 
“ egregious impudence.” 

For his part, he respected her : she was sweet and 
fresh in tone and thought: the novelty of such a 
woman made him notice her. He thought she would 
be beastly dull if she weren’t so deuced handsome. He 
held her in more regard than his wife, whose nature 
he vaguely understood, though ignoring her actual 
frailties. He gave Zoe a kind thought from time to 
time, when he passed the carriage in town, or left 


Zo'e the Dancer 211 


her with the festive twain. He thought she would 
have made a kind little sister. 

Zoe could endure no more. She left the two to 
their own devices: they applauded her going, not 
so quietly but that she heard. She retired to the 
honest company of Peggy. That good creature sat 
for the most part “high and dry,” so she termed it, 
above the tide of Parisian putrescence : with her hands 
occupied in knitting, while a complaisant housemaid 
read aloud to her, she suffered the life of the town 
to pass unnoticed. The housemaid, for her part, was 
of an age and a mind wherein tales of adventure 
are of little worth: she must read, if read she must, 
stories of love j dukes ran off with pretty governesses ; 
great financiers ruined beautiful concert-singers; bold 
bad men forced their way into the apartments of 
the highest ladies imaginable, who in no wise said 
them nay. Peggy listened with a tight mouth, her 
eyes intent on her needles. Eeading in other days 
had meant to her the slow delivery of pious books, 
growled out by Madame Plisse, or at the worst, tales 
of plain, unvarnished respectability. Paris, it was 
obvious, could not produce anything but the most 
unspeakable. 

The housemaid was plump and personable. She 
could toss her head with the best, and as for the 
flouncings-about she indulged in when dusting, queens 
could scarcely have bettered them. She had formed 
her own opinion concerning the matrimonial difficulties 
of the household. One afternoon she slapped the 
book together and gave her opinion frankly. Peggy 
sat staring, helpless for the moment. Here was the 


278 Zo'e the Dancer 


first awakening to the unpleasantness of her sur- 
roundings. The girl chattered gaily, she admired both 
her master and Wychthwaite, preferring the latter. 
She had shrewdly divined that he was the stronger 
man: she knew also that he had begun a flirtation 
with Kitty of very idleness — she was, the housemaid 
said, a common coquette — but that the situation had 
the elements of more than flirtation in it now. It 
appeared that the servants, in the Court of the Kitchen, 
judged, condemned and were constantly facetious 
about them. 

Peggy heard all and was still listening when Zoe 
rang. 

“ 111 stay in this afternoon, Peggy,” she said. 

“ I should,” said Peggy. 

"Ill change my dress,” she said further, and as 
Peggy helped her to put on her house dress, she 
held a miserable silence. Seated with Peggy putting 
away the walking dress she tried to talk, but Peggy 
was surly. The effect of her knowledge was to make 
her angry and frightened. 

“Well not be here much longer, my Miss?” she 
inquired. 

Zoe blushed, wondering if she knew. “ And why 
not, Peggy ? ” 

“I don’t like the place,” Peggy cried. “I hate 
it. And the folk.” 

“ Not very long,” Zoe said. She dismissed the 
woman and counted on her fingers the hours that 
stretched between her and Burmance. The number 
depressed her: he was so long away, and she had 
made it so. 


Zo'e the Dancer 279 

Glad of her solitude, she wrote a number of letters, 
one to Wychthwaite, another to Jewell-Brown, another 
to Peggy, enclosing money. These she locked away 
securely until the fifteenth, the day that should set 
her free. The business brightened her, she could 
sing for happiness. She fell into a train of pleasant 
thoughts of her lover: to distract herself, she went 
down to the drawing-room whence Wychthwaite and 
Kitty had long gone, to read and play. 


Chapter XXXVI 


tells of JewelUBrowrCs awakening^ and shows that a man 
may he a knave and a fool and yet he worthy of 
redemption 

W HISPERS ran about the Club that 
Jewell-Brown frequented, dying away 
at his approach. Inadvertently he heard 
voices coupling his wife’s name with that 
of Wychthwaite: vulgar innuendo accompanied the 
speech ; he realised in a moment that the matter was 
new to none of the ears that heard it, save his. He 
left the billiard-table to follow the gossips into the 
hall of the Club. Furiously he demanded an explana- 
tion : there was a scene, the men who had talked had 
not known he was present : everyone stared awkwardly 
at his fellow, none answered Jewell-Brown. He stood, 
without his coat, the centre of an almost silent group : 
Jewell-Brown was drawn into a room. His fury made 
him stammer, he beat his hands together in the manner 
of the impatient. There was no way out of it, at length 
one fellow apologetically told him, with the echoed 
assurance that it was all idle chatter and bosh and not 
worth listening to. He would have said more in the 
same strain, his companions agreeing, but that Jewell- 
Brown made to start away, coatless, toward his home. 
He was detained for a short space, until he could be 
calmer. The man who had told him went with 
him. 

280 


Zo'e the Dancer 281 


Kitty and her cavalier were not in the house : nor 
for all he could see, was Zoe. 

She’s with them, you fool ! ” he cried ; “ that good 
little thing has saved my name.” 

“ I don’t see — ” the man began. 

“ Wychth Waite’s wife,” said Jewell-Brown. “What 
a pack of fools those tattling gossips are ! She’s always 
with ’em.” He was moved to mirth, apparently at his 
companion’s expense. 

He sat down to give himself time for thought- 
Quiet reflection brought with it the conviction of 
Wychth waite’s honour, his passion for Zoe, which, 
unallayed, he argued, must needs persist. The man 
went away, mystified, not in the least convinced, Jewell- 
Brown quietly awaited their return. 

He felt complete reliance on Wychth waite’s honour 
not a thought, be it noted, of the honour of his wife. 
It was not she that he trusted, but her friends. He 
rang at last for tea. It was brought, and Zoe came 
at the same moment into the room. She was some- 
what surprised to find her host alone, more to note his 
evident dismay. 

“ Back already ? ” he said, in answer to her salutation. 

“ I’ve not been out,” she replied. 

“ All stopped in, hey ? ” he went on. 

“The others are out just now,” she said, feeling 
her way. “ Do you want Kitty ? I know where 
she is.” She did not, but the statement passed 
unchallenged. 

He looked awkwardly about, his fears returning. 

“ Why didn’t you go too, Zoe ? ” he asked. 

“ I had a headache,” she said. “ I thought I should 


282 Zo'e the Dancer 

be better resting. I ought not to have missed my 
outing/” 

“ I’m afraid you often miss your outing, as you call 
it,” he said, gravely. Zoe shook her head. 

“ Oh, no ! I would if I could, I’m afraid — I’m so 
lazy lately — but your wife is energy inexhaustible ; 
she’s always about, I don’t get any rest.” 

During the progress of her speech he brightened ; at 
the end, he sighed ; not so easily might his doubts be 
dissipated. Zoe gave him tea, he left it untouched; 
she tried to make him talk, he stared, listened, forgot 
to answer, fidgeted, fell into abstraction. At last he 
rose to go out again. 

“ Billiards ? ” said Zoe. 

“No more billiards for me,” he said. 

He went down the steps of the house, stood a while 
then wandered aimlessly away. Zoe watched him 
while she might, leaning from the window to see which 
road he took. 

Her head ached desolately, she went to her room to 
lie down, the effort of trying to amuse and divert him 
had exhausted her. A dinner party was arranged for 
the evening ; Zoe had to rise, dress herself with Peggy’s 
help, and go down. She entered the room late. Kitty, 
resplendently clad, received her guests, Wychthwaite 
entertained them. Jewell-Brown was even later : he 
he was in a sullen mood, curt with his wife, scarcely 
amiable with the visitors. Zoe shook off her weariness ; 
murmurs reached her ears about the sulky husband and 
the laughing other ; she threw herself heart and soul 
into the task of making things go. A new Zoe shone 
on the pleased company : she was no longer the dull 


Zo'e the Dancer 


283 


prude of Kitty’s description. She chatted familiarly 
with all; with the ringing merriment that had often 
angered Sister J oy, she kept the table gay : she 
babbled nonsense to the older men, talked earnestly 
with the young. Wychthwaite received a smile and 
a jest, Kitty indulged her pout. At one end sat 
Jewell-Brown, ominously quiet, at the other, his wife, 
bitterly outdone. Not Kitty alone found Zoe’s charm 
trying. As his wife’s pout grew, Jewell-Brown became 
more cheerful. The evening had begun unpleasantly ; 
it went very little better as the hours passed. Mankind 
was pleased with Zoe, every fellow at table must needs 
bandy a jest with her. She forgot her headache in the 
certain triumph. 

Eegarding her, not without admiration, Jewell-Brown 
was bound to think his earlier suspicions ridiculous : it 
was foolish to imagine that the husband of so glorious 
a creature should dangle after his silly little Kitty ; he 
decided that Kitty must have tried, with some success, 
to inveigle Wychthwaite. He trusted his friend. A 
glance at him confirmed the new aspect. Wychthwaite 
was metaphorically at Zoe’s feet. Kitty was of no 
account. 

Ladies in the drawing-room made it clear to Zoe 
that her triumph was a matter of sex ; she was used to 
that state of things ; she settled by the fire, cogitating 
quietly until her thralls should join her. In spite of 
Kitty’s well-meant efforts to mix oil and vinegar, a 
metaphor rendered unusually applicable by reason of the 
asperity of the ladies, Zoe sat alone and in silence. 
She studied the fire intently and meditated Jewell- 
Brown’s mood. She felt a distinct fear when she 


284 Zo'e the Dancer 

recalled his dull anger. Her mind was occupied with 
the question as to which of the suspected she should 
warn. From this absorption she was aroused by 
whispers: quiet tones she had heard, normal chatter 
she had not noticed ; a whisper reached her complete. 
It had reference to herself and Wychthwaite. 

“ He must have made it worth her while to leave 
the stage. Paid her a huge sum, no doubt. Just so 
that he can be with Kitty Jewell-Brown. What a 
woman she must be, to take money, in such a case ! 
A dancer, my dear, a ballet-girl.” 

Kitty for her part held louder talk at a different 
part of the room. Zoe heard all of the whisper, and 
left her study by the fire to turn to see the ladies who 
had thus discussed her. The group broke up. The 
men came in : there was music ; light conversation 
and laughter, songs and piano-solos occupied the 
remainder of the evening. Zoe approached Kitty as 
the last guest was seen to leave. 

“Kitty,” she murmured, “Your husband found me 
in alone to-day. He was disturbed, agitated. Be 
careful.” 

She met J ewell-Brown at the door and stayed to say 
good-night to him ; at the moment she was granted in 
a mirror the sight of Wychthwaite and Kitty laughing 
at her. She guessed what vulgar construction his 
conceit would lead him to put upon her sentence. 

She stayed in her room next day, her headache 
worse. She resolved to give no more help to the 
foolish — or — it might be — the guilty, by her evasions 
or her timely presence. A message that she was very 
ill was sent to Kitty, who did not trouble to come to 


Zo'e the Dancer 


285 


her room. A maid returned with compliments, and the 
hope that Mrs Wychthwaite would ask for anything 
she wished. At lunch time she struggled to rise. 

“ I must go down, Peggy,” she cried. “ I can’t be ill 
in this house. We’ll go away, you and I. I daren’t 
let them think I’m really ill.” 

She was met by such another look from Jewell- 
Brown as he had given her the day before. He passed 
her by and shouted to the servant. “ You told 
me Mrs Wychthwaite had gone out with Mrs Jewell- 
Brown.” 

The man hesitated. Zoe broke in. “ I started,” she 
said, “ but my head ached, and I returned. 1 am to 
join them later.” 

Jewell-Brown laughed. They sat at table together, 
the servant was silent. He passed about the room 
once or twice setting dishes before them. 

“Go out,” said Jewell-Brown. “Go out, I say.” 
The man went out. “ I don’t believe what you say,” he 
went on to Zoe. “ Your shielding them. Damn it, I 
thought you were straight, Zoe.” 

“ Oh, hear me,” she said. “ It’s not so bad.” 

“If it’s bad at all, it’s damnation,” he answered. 
“ You’re clean, or were. What I say is, get out of it 
before you’re soiled too.” He left her noisily and 
without farewell ; Zoe heard the hall door bang. 


Chapter XXXVII 


tells of sickness^ and evil, and a great sacrifice 


Z OE was pitifully agitated. She felt too ill 
for coherence of thought. She feared that 
she had helped to wrong her only friend in 
that house. He had stood by her once 
the opportunity to repay him had been hers, and she 
had honestly tried to avail herself of it ; her failure had 
been the worse in that he believed her to have betrayed 
him. She faced her new knowledge of the man with 
greater confidence, in spite of her fear. Her belief that 
his own morality was lax and that he himself would 
wink at any like lapse in his wife, now for the first 
time gave place to a truer and healthier understanding. 
It was evident that he held sin to be as black as ever 
it appeared to her. He was not contemptuous of the 
wrong-doers : but he deeply resented the offence. She 
was comforted to realise that. 

From time to time she slept uneasily, fully clothed 
on her bed. At each awakening, and they were 
frequent, for her agitated mind would not rest, hope- 
lessly she meditated the situation. Blackness encom- 
passed her ; she closed her eyes, but the evil of her 
thoughts persisted. At length in the midst of a tangle 
of imaginings, Wychthwaite’s dishonour, Kitty’s care- 
lessness, Jewell-Brown’s anger, Burmance’s love, 
Peggy’s faithfulness, she fell asleep unconscious of her 
position. She woke this time to daylight, in bed. A 
286 


Zoe the Dancer 


287 


strange man stood by, Peggy, looking very tired, at the 
foot of the bed: Kitty, by the stranger, pale and 
anxious. A great desire for sleep was upon her ; before 
the doctor had left the room, she had fallen into a sound 
slumber. 

Once more she awoke, to be fed and to sleep once 
more : from time to time, the room appeared to her, 
Peggy its occupant. She recognised at intervals the 
physician, whose cheery presence was a mystery to her, 
recurring as it seemed to do every half hour. Strange 
voices called Peggy “ Nurse ” : or a strange woman 
tended her. She felt, when she was conscious, nothing 
but a passionate desire for rest ; she slept continually 
and was not satisfied. A great weariness held her: 
sleep was no refuge from it. In painful heat, she strove 
to free herself of the wrappings about her ; she was 
restrained by opposing force, yielded and slept. Thirst 
assailed her : she cried for drink without ceasing : it 
seemed as if the cup would never reach her lips, or 
being quaffed could never be filled again ; her throat 
burned : all the moistness seemed to have fled. At her 
bedside, clear liquids lay in glass as clear : she could 
not stretch a hand to take them. Visions of Peggy and 
the other attendants alternated with horrifying dreams ; 
she slept with terror and woke to dread. For hours 
the comfort of unconsciousness was denied her ; sleep 
held a world of its own, where she must travel hand in 
hand with horror. Evocations of the absent lover were 
vain : she was bound about with misery. To close her 
eyes was to enter that world of dread. She preferred 
at length the waking to pain and the less vivid troubles 
of the world of reality. She was in a sorry plight when 


288 Zoe the Dancer 


Burmance could no longer exorcise the demons at 
assault. 

Long and wearying hours slipped by, bringing varied 
torments in their train. She lay at their mercy. Peggy, 
the brave sober Peggy, was often at hand ; Zoe was 
frightened when the room did not hold her faithful 
attendant. Love lent her wit to know what help was 
needed. There were others that came and went, hut 
Zoe leaned on Peggy with full trust, as a child may 
lean on its mother’s bosom. With Peggy in her sight 
she could for a space hold fear at bay. The sight of 
Kitty had a contrary effect: she recalled difficulties, 
unsavoury episodes : Zoe was feebly glad to know that 
she was not there. 

At length, calm returned with genuine sleep: she 
could close her eyes without fear in the pleasant 
certainty of rest. From the slumber that followed, 
she gained strength : she began to find her hand 
powerful enough to move the coverlet : she could lift 
her arms to Peggy’s neck. The day was no longer an 
offence to her eyes: with a shaft of sunlight in her 
room, she defied the demons that had fallen upon her 
with such distastrous success. In the garish beauty of 
the daylight, she found their very being ridiculous. 
Thought might be indulged in without terror : she 
could meditate and be unafraid. When worries obtruded, 
and coherence fled her, she turned her mind to 
Burmance : he became her protector ; demons had not 
shunned his image, but mortals were not proof. His 
face, fondly recollected, dismissed peremptorily the 
vague trouble that the uneasy remembrance of 
Wychthwaite had occasioned. She was grateful to his 


Zoe the Dancer 


289 


exorcism ; his memory encompassed repose, and repose 
became her healing. Unaware, on her partial recovery, 
of how ill she had been, she marvelled at the kind 
attention paid to her by everybody. Grapes had been 
sent by one person, flowers bore the name of another : 
a plate full of cards with civil messages, that had been 
left, some of them with gifts, betrayed the real kindness 
of some of the Jewell-Browns’ friends. Had Zoe been 
perfectly well she would have felt emotion at the display 
of so much good feeling. Feeble as she was, she wept 
long and happily : a general grateful message was sent 
to all. 

“ Will you see anybody ? ” Peggy asked. 

“ You mean ” 

“Mr Wychthwaite and Mr Jewell-Brown.” 

“ Both, yes. Hot alone : both, you understand.” 

The visit cheered her; they stayed three minutes, 
Kitty, gay and frivolous, deprecating the worry that 
Zoe apologised for having caused. Wychthwaite hardly 
spoke, Jewell-Brown was cheerful. Wychthwaite was 
reflecting what a guy his wife looked, white and skinny. 
Zoe was better for the visit, she asked them to come 
again. They returned the following day, Wychthwaite 
savouring fully the disgust that Zoe’s pallor and thin- 
ness provided for his aesthetic taste. Kitty got no 
farther than insincere protestations, Jewell-Brown 
jested, rather boisterously indeed, but the invalid 
was grateful. She accepted his slight vulgarity as 
she had accepted the evident vulgarity of the theatre, 
at its worth : what was sociable, good and helpful, was, 
in her mind, not destroyed by it. She brightened to 
see his face all smiles : his most feeble wit, in the 
T 


290 Zo'e the Dancer 


sickroom, appeared highly amusing : she did not ask 
for brilliancy, the clown of a circus would have diverted 
her. She found herself answering Jewell-Brown’s 
puny jests with jokes as feeble. They laughed at each 
other and themselves gaily. His mere putting his 
hand round the door to wave a facetious “ au revoir ” 
made Zoe chuckle with delight for five minutes. The 
attention pleased her, but tired her also. 

When Kitty brought Jewell-Brown again it was 
without the company of Wychthwaite. Zoe marked 
the absence of her husband and rejoiced in it. 
But Jewell-Brown brought the gloom, he began to 
speak, lost the thread of his remark, glanced at his 
wife’s scornful smile, and made no further effort. 

“ I have been able to sleep so soundly,” Zoe said, to 
fill the pause, “ that I feel perfectly strong. I am a 
giant. I am Samsonesque. When I could not sleep, 
I lost all hope. I had such appalling dreams too.” 

“Dreams,” Kitty repeated, idly. 

“ Oh, I have dreamt horrors. I dare not remember 
some. They were ghastly. You can’t think.” 

Jewell-Brown caught her eye vaguely. 

“ Eh ? ” he ejaculated. 

“ I said you can’t think,” Zoe obligingly repeated, 
not strong enough to go over all of her speech. His 
answer was surprising. 

“ Ko, I can’t think,” he retorted, with violence, “ but 
by God, I can feel.” 

Zoe had wit enough to perceive that the anger of the 
interpolation arose not out of her remark, but was the 
remnant of some conjugal difference earlier in the day. 
She was silent, nonplussed, and the two left her. The 


Zoe the Dancer 


291 


incident seemed to throw her back among her painful 
doubts. Peggy was questioned, not vainly. She could 
inform her lady that the married people were at logger- 
heads. She did not say that Wychthwaite was the 
willing cause of dissensions : Zoe knew that only too 
well. She cried out in her soul against his infamy. 
Let him wrong her^ do her harm, traduce her, but let 
him spare his friend. 

“ I’ll do it,” she said aloud. The decision came to 
her suddenly. Self had filled her horizon before, she 
had considered no one else. “If I die,” she told 
herself, “ I’ll yet save my friend.” 

Probation had given Wychthwaite his chance. 
Voluntarily he had made the worst of his time. If he 
had wanted her, she believed, he would have comported 
himself, at least for that term, decently. The fact 
that she had fled from him escaped her : that she had 
herself suggested some adjustment seemed an additional 
reason for impeachment. He had been given the 
opportunity to repent and he had but stepped the more 
surely in his own path. 

“ I will do it,” she reiterated. She sent by Peggy a 
message to her husband to come to her. He returned 
with the servant almost at once. Zoe was raised in 
bed, she addressed him in English. 

“ I have been thinking,” she began, with as bright a 
face as she could put on the matter, “that I have 
behaved very badly to you. When I wrote to Mr 
Jewell-Brown, I was in earnest.” 

She paused, but he made no remark. 

“ How, if you are willing to take me,” she went on, 
calmly, but with a heart like stone, “ for my part, I’m 


292 Zo'e the Dancer 


willing to come. When I’m well enough to go, we’ll go 
together, won’t we ? ” The pain she felt was dulled 
somewhat in comparison with the excitement. She 
meant to save Jewell-Brown. Wychthwaite grew red, 
looked awkward. 

‘Wery well,” he said without enthusiasm. 

Zoe was heartily glad he made no movement to take 
her hand or kiss her. She wore her smile constantly, 
facing him. He blushed and paled in turn. “Very 
well,” he said again, with a false intonation of pleasure. 
“ That’s settled.” 

He made for the door; his movement released 
Zoe from her obsession. She greatly desired her 
freedom. 

“ If you are willing — ” she suggested. The struggle 
within her was equalled by the fight he waged within 
himself. He came back, and spoke with a more open 
tone. 

“ I’m willing, of course,” he began, then more frankly 
yet: “We ought to be willing, Zoe, and we shall be. 
We’ll be good friends yet.” 

They shook hands on this speech. Zoe thanking 
him. She saw how disagreeable her proposal was to 
him. Never surely were two people more unwilling to 
wed, or more anxious to do right. 

When he had gone she faced the future bravely, but 
with so woeful a look that Peggy was dismayed. 

“We go away with Mr Wychthwaite,” Zoe translated 
for her benefit. 

“ Not I,” cried Peggy, “ for one.” 

“ Would you desert me, Peggy ? ” wept Zoe. 

“Not while you’re mine,” Peggy answered stoutly. 


Zoe the Dancer 293 


“ Go with that fellow and say good-bye for ever to your 
old Peggy.” 

“ So it must be then,” said Zoe. 

“ I’d rather a hundred times bury you, my girl,” said 
Peggy. “Ah, and he doesn’t want you. He wants 
her. Will that change you ? ” 

“ That strengthens me,” Zoe said. “ Have you for- 
gotten your religion, then ? ” 

The word recalled prayers. Peggy knelt. Together 
they prayed, one weeping. 

“ Leave me, Peggy,” Zoe commanded, “ I must rest. 
We shall soon leave this house, now.” 

Tormented once more by doubts insoluble, she lay 
in a half doze, the prey to further ponderings. 


Chapter XXXVIII 

holds communion with the dead 


T O her next awakening she put off the con- 
templation of her words to Wychthwaite. 
But when she woke the incident was 
forgotten. 

Her mind tried to deal with the problem of her 
future. It begged for yet more time, hut Zoe knew 
that she must decide. Before her lay two lives, one 
bright with joy and love, the other with nothing to 
lighten it. The choice was made a hundred times and 
each time her brain fell back from the effort of con- 
firming it. 

“ I am going to my lover,” she whispered to her own 
ears, and in the words found strength. 

To the exertion of sustained thought, delirium suc- 
ceeded. Faces thronged about her bed ; voices joined 
to dissuade her or to send her on her way. 

Lalage, aureolate, hung mistily before her, murmuring 
continually, “ I’d take my happiness if I could see it. 
I’d take my happiness if I could see it.” 

“ I see mine,” said Zoe. 

“ Take it while you may,” said dead Lalage. 

“ I am going to my lover,” Zoe whispered. 

Lalage’s haloed face disappeared and Claire’s baby 
prattled joyously, beating its chubby hands together, 
for pure delight. Zoe held out her arms, but it 
was too far from her grasp, and she too worn to 

294 


Zoe the Dancer 


295 


follow it. Its flight disturbed her, she bit her hand 
and wept. 

“Why am I tormented?” she asked. The baby 
dimpled seductively. Her hands could not shut out 
the sight of its wistfulness. “ Must I never kiss a 
child of mine ? ” sobbed poor Zoe. Motherhood was 
denied her. She wept herself tired, to resume her 
agonised survey of the ghosts that thronged her room. 

The six girls of the upper class sat at needlework, 
she among them : she looked at them with fondness : 
her own hands held fine embroidery, she bent to it ; 
soft chirrupings made her lift her head. Four of her 
companions held rosy children in their arms ; Claire 
bowed her head above her child, it cried in pain. “ I 
had rather suffer thus and even lose my little one,” she 
said in tears, “ than never to have held it to my breast.” 
Zoe’s tears were the more bitter: they washed the 
vision away. 

Faces of men swam into view : she danced, bowed, 
laughed and was entirely happy : Joseph threw a 
wreath, someone a bunch of roses : she was bombarded 
with bouquets ; she danced on the encumbered stage 
between the heaps of flowers. Eelentless memory took 
her from that triumph to the lonely seat that faced 
the Campobossis. The flowers withered with the 
dream. 

Burmance waited in the sunlight : her heart went 
out to him. Hands invisible held her back. She 
listened for words of love, and heard the idle chatter 
of Kitty’s friends. 

Dead Lalage — Burmance — J oseph — Amalia — 
Wychthwaite — Sister Joy — Bertrand — Brother Frederic 


296 


Zoe the Dancer 


— Zoe watched them pass and repass. She yearned to 
be alone. 

Brother Frederic brought prayer, Zoe prayed, vigour 
returned, he faded with the rest, the room was free. 
Ghosts dead and living alike fled exorcised by her 
devotion. To replace them, Mary Mother glowed in 
the air before her, her Child at her bosom, Zoe’s lips 
were dumb, before her returning torment. The Holy 
Child smiled and held out baby arms ; Mary held Him 
close. 

“I am going to my lover,” said Zoe. The Virgin 
blessed her with a wave of the hand. 

Again the procession passed. At every attempt to 
answer the question that her heart asked of her 
mind or that her mind asked of her heart, the phantoms 
came to testify for right or wrong. Merciful sleep 
came upon her, but at the opening of her eyes, the 
ghosts still waited. 

Going to him was love, and love was pain ; staying 
was right, and right was pain. The hours of anguish 
that she had suffered counted as nought. She was as 
far from her decision as ever. There was no change. 
Every hour came in with torment and went out with 
anguish. Zoe thought years must be passing, while 
she wrestled within. 

She was aware of no divisions of time: thought, 
torturing meditation, unsolved anxiety made up her 
world. 


Chapter XXXIX 

is concerTied with an unhappy man 

P EGGY aroused her ; the servant was busying 
herself about the room opening dra\^ers, 
folding dresses, wrapping tissue paper about 
laces. Zoe asked what day it was, aware that 
she had lost count of time. The answer dismayed her. 

“ The fifteenth ? ” she repeated. “ Peggy, you can’t 
mean it ? Not the fifteenth, Peggy, not the fifteenth.” 

“ It is the fifteenth,” Peggy declared stoutly. The 
date had no associations for her. 

“ Am I very ill, Peggy ? ” 

“ Nearly well, my Miss,” said the servant. “ Well 
enough to go.” 

“Well enough to go, yes,” said Zoe, she sat up pre- 
pared to rise. 

“ To-morrow,” Peggy said. 

Zoe sank back. “ To-morrow,” she agreed with her lips. 
“ You shall go,” the woman went on, “ and without 
him ” 

“ Him,” Zoe echoed vaguely. 

“That wanton’s lover,” Peggy cried. Not another 
word would she give : she tidied the room and went 
out. 

It was nine o’clock. Until twelve Burmance awaited 
her. She knew he would wait beyond the last stroke 
of midnight — he would not lightly let hope escape. 

“ I will go to him at once,” she said. Kising, she 

297 


298 Zoe the Dancer 


locked the door and fell on her knees. Prayer 
strengthened her soul and calmed her. She set quietly 
about her slight preparations. A voice bid her good- 
night from outside the door: she answered civilly, holding 
her breath in fear lest by some chance her plan should 
reveal itself. Another voice, this time Kitty’s, with 
much of contempt lingering in it, told her to sleep well. 
Doors closed, windows were thrown up, curtains drawn, 
fires mended. Zoe heard angry voices in the corridor : 
it was Jewell-Brown swearing at his servant, the man 
defending himself : his master’s voice rose higher. He 
was exceedingly angry. Every sound died out. Zoe 
wearily placed the last garment in her bag. The effort 
of dressing herself succeeded, and proved too great for 
her. As she raised herself from the buttoning of her 
boots, she felt faint; her head was hot, her heart 
cold ; blood roared in her ears : she lay down on the 
bed, half-conscious, for a moment’s rest. The clocks 
struck eleven, a quarter past, half past ; Zoe heard them 
vaguely through the noise of her pulses : she was too 
feeble to rise. She was faintly aware of movement 
outside her door : voices were raised for an instant : 
that also left her undisturbed. The clocks warned her 
that it was quarter to twelve. The image of Burmance, 
great, hopeful, patient, waiting for her, was of itself 
enough to give her energy ; she rose, put on her cloak, 
drank a cordial. Wychthwaite’s claim faced her ; she 
remembered his unwillingness and could be calm. The 
vision of Burmance with her heart in his keeping drew 
her. 

“ I am going to my lover,” she said silently. “ I am 
going|to my lover.” 


Zo'e the Dancer 299 

The house was quiet and dark ; the last light, Zoe’s 
candle, was extinguished. In the murk, with her 
lover’s name on her lips, she unlocked the door and 
stood to listen.' There was nothing but a footstep 
growing fainter in the street below. She made a step, 
but something stopped her foot. Terrified, she drew 
back, then thinking it might be Peggy, fearful to be 
alone and lying dog-like at the guard, she struck a 
light. 

Clocks gave warning of their midnight effort : in the 
silence that followed their premonitory sound, Zoe 
stood to gaze on that which had barred her passage. 
Twelve strokes tolled the death of the day that might 
had given her to her lover. The clocks ceased, with 
never an extra note for the passing of Wychthwaite, 
who lay, with a knife in his throat, staring up at his 
wife. 


Chapter XL 

echoes to the chime of the vesper hell 

T he Brothers of the Fraternity turned out 
in full force and grand array to greet the 
bride. Her invitation was a command, 
and the plea that their tunics were far 
from clean served them not. They were the same 
tunics that had adorned the wearers when they had 
succoured her in the past, as much the same as the 
true hearts that beat beneath them. So they came at 
her bidding, nothing loth. Royally they feasted, the 
whole Brotherhood, with hands gauging their rotundity, 
smacking their lips without let or hindrance. 

Jovially they elbowed the gaily clad friends that 
flocked about her, hobnobbing with the highest in the 
land ; and at the close, joyous and smiling, they returned 
to their abode. 

Zoe watched them go, laughing with tear-filled eyes, 
as they pushed each other amiably about, constantly 
turning to wave a courteous adieu ; and to each 
signal she replied with a smile and a bow. They were 
content, and she was content, and how much more was 
Burmance content, who stood to see her while she 
waved and smiled ! 

They closed the narrow gate of the Fraternity, 
shutting themselves in among the odours and sights 
of years. Each to his task, with a sigh for the ended 
delights of the day. The older Brothers trotted away, 

300 


Zo'e the Dancer 301 


recalling in a pleased silence the last glass of Pommery. 
One lingered and mused. 

“What changes there have been!” said this one 
aloud. 

The remark arrested the departing Brothers and 
brought them about him, staring with amaze. They 
made him repeat his preposterous speech, nudging each 
other roguishly at the close. What a silly youngster, 
the nudges meant : hark at him saying such things, and 
he only turned sixty this autumn I 

“ Changes ? ” said Brother Kobert. He looked at the 
vine growing on the wall of the cloister; the leaves 
had an obedient air, hanging from the points at which 
he allowed them to grow. It had always looked the 
same, that vine. “ Changes ? ” he repeated, “ I know of 
none.” 

Brother Luke examined his door jealously : the bolt 
still grated as it had done when he first drew it ; the 
key still chafed his thigh. “ I also know of none,” he 
said, and drew away from so idle a discussion. 

“ Changes ? ” mused Brother Eutychus. “ Where 
are they ? ” Since he could remember, they had always 
had the same meals, week in, week out, at the Fraternity, 
and for many a long year he had been responsible for 
them. 

“ Changes,” grumbled Brother Frederic ; “ nonsense, 
the confessions are always the same ; all girls are alike.” 

They stared each one at the part of the monastery 
life that was entrusted to him, digesting the strange 
word. One by one they turned away, denying their 
Brother reason. 

Nevertheless, Change was there — patent, palpable. 


302 


Zoe the Dancer 


self-evident, sad. What of thy mirror, Brother Kobert, 
if thou ownest such a gaud ? Tells it not of wrinkles, 
the small change of the currency of Time ? 

Consider thy charge, 0 Janitor. Swings the door not 
heavier on its hinges ? Thou shuttest it not quite so 
easily as of yore. 

What of thy drooping head, 0 Brother Eutychus ? 
Some change there, surely, from the days of adoles- 
cence. 

Time was when thy step was smarter. Brother 
Frederic, and thy joints more supple. And the girls, 
my Brother, do they confess quite so much as in the 
days of yore ? 

What of your greater charity, 0 my Brothers, 
widened at length to cover every sin ? The years 
themselves, do they not pass with a swifter speed ? 

Surely, surely the hand of Change is upon you, is 
everywhere over the wandering world. Go your ap- 
pointed ways, my Brothers, down the ever steepening 
track of Time, and complete absolution be yours at 
last. 

Good-night ! Good-night ! 

Softly through the twilight steals the music of the 
vesper bell. Softly, for we are a-weary ; softly, for the 
earth is dreaming ; softly, for the day is done. 











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MAUD DIVER 

A TRILOGY OF ANGLO-INDIAN 
ARMY LIFE 

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Hardy. . . His descriptions of the sea and his characterization 

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philosophy.” — JeannetieL. Gilder in The Chicago Tribune. 

“It is no dry bones of a chronicle, but touched by genius to life 
and vividness. ” — Louis'^ille^ Kentucky^ Post. 

“A close, tlioughtful study of universal human nature.” 

— The Outlook. 

“ One of the best of tliis author’s many works.” — The Bookman. 


An American Love-Story 

MARGARITA’S SOUL 


BY 

JOSEPHINE DASKAM BACON 

[INGRAHAM LOVELL] 

Profusely Illustrated. Sixteen full-page half-tone illustrations. 

Numerous line cuts, reproduced from drawings by J. Scott 
Williams. Also VVTiistler Butterfly Decorations. 

Cloth. 12mo. $1.50 

‘ ' Filled with imaginative touches, resourceful, intelligent 
and amusing. An ingenious plot that keeps the interest sus- 
pended until the end, and has a quick and shrewd sense of 
humor.** — Boston Transcript. 

“a reviewer would hesitate to say how long it is since a 
writer gave us so beautiful, so naive, so strangely brought up 
and introduced, a heroine. It is to be hoped that the author 
is already at work on another novel.** —Toronto Globe. 

‘*May cause the reader to miss an important engagement 
or neglect his business. A love story of sweetness and purity 
touched with the mythical light of Romance and aglow with 
poetry and tenderness. One of the most enchanting creatures 
in modern fiction.** — San Francisco Bulletin, 

“It is extremely entertaining from s^^art tp^ finish, and 
there are most delightful chapters of description and romantic 
scenes which hold one positively charmed by their beauty and 
unusualness.** —Boston Herald, 

“Sentimental, with the wholesome, pleasing sentimentality 
of the old bachelor who has not turned crusty. . . A Thack- 
erayan touch.** — New York Tribune. 

‘ ‘ Captures the imagination at the outset by the boldness 
of the situation. . . We should be hard put to it to name a 
better American novel of the month. * * -The Outlook. 


i 


DOLF WYLLARDE 

12mo. $1.50 each 

“Dolf Wyllarde sees life with clear eyes and puts down what she 
sees with a fearless pen. . . . More than a little of the flavor 

of Kipling: in the g:ood old days of Plain Tales from the Hills.’* 

—Nenv York Globe. 

Mafoota 

A Romance of Jamaica 

“The plot has a resemblance to that of Wilkie Collins* ‘The New 
Magdalen,* but the heroine is a Puritan of the strictest type; the 
subject matter is like ‘The Helpmate.’ ** — Springfield Republican. 

As Ye Have Sown 

“A brilliant story dealing with the world of fashion.” 

Captain Amyas 

‘ ‘ Masterly. * ’ — San Francisco Examiner. 

“Startlingly plain-spoken.” — Louisville Courier- Journal. 

The Rat Trap 

“The literary sensation of the year.” — Philadelphia Item. 

The Story of Eden 

“Bold and outspoken, a startling book.” — Chicago Record-Herald, 
“A real feeling of brilliant sunshine and exhilarating air.” 

—Spectator. 

Rose-White Youth 

*** The love-story of a young girl. 

The Pathway of the Pioneer 

%* The story of seven girls who have banded themselves together 
for iiiuLual help and cheer under the name of “Nous Autres.” 
They represent, collectively, the professions open to women of no 
deliberate training, though well-educated. They are introduced to 
the reader at one of their weekly gatherings and then the author 
proceeds to depict the home and business life of each one individ- 
ually. 

Tropical Tales 

*** A collection of short stories dealing with “all sorts and con- 
ditions” of men and women in all classes of life ; some of the 
tales sounding the note of joy and happiness; others portraying the 
pathetic, and even the shady side of life ; all written in the interest- 
ing manner characteristic of the author. 

The Riding Master. Cloth. 12mo. $1.50 


M. P. WILLCOCKS 


The Way Up cloth, izmo. $1.50 

The Romance of an Ironmaster Touching Three Vital Questions 

(a) Capital and Labor, 

(b) The Claims of the Individual Against Those of the State. 

( c) The Right of a JVoman to Her Onxjn Individuality. 

“M. P. Willcocks is an English writer of unusual force and that 
dry, incisive humor dearly beloved of the intellectual reader. In 
‘The Way Up’ this writer crystallizes a tense and telling problem. 
The book is earnest enough for the most serious of readers, yet 
never dull or dreary. The humanization is admirable.” — Chicago 
Record-Herald. 

“ Miss Willcocks shows the wit of Barrie in close alliance with the 
bold realism of Thomas Hardy and the philosophic touches of 
George Meredith. ” — Literary World., London. 

“Striking studies of character and grace of charm and style.” — 
Nev) York Sun. 

‘ ‘Such books are worth keeping on the shelves, even by the classics, 
for they are painted in colors which do not fade.” — London Times. 

The Wingless Victory cloth. i2mo. $1.50 

“A most remarkable novel which places the author in the first rank. 
This is a novel built to last.” — The Outlook. 

‘ ‘ A book worth keeping on the shelves, even by the classics, for 
it is painted in colors which do not fade.” — The Times. 

“ It is an excellent thing for any reader to come across this book.” 
— Standard. 

“A splendid book.” — Tribune. 

A Man of Genius Cloth. l2mo. $1.50 

“ Far above the general level of contemporary fiction. A work of 
unusual power.” — Professor William Lyon Phelps. 


Widdicombe 

A Romance of the Devonshire Moors 


Cloth. 12mo. $1.50 


) 



A. NEIL LYONS 


ROBERT BLATCHFORD 

C/ot/i. 12mo, 75 cents net. Postage 10 cts. 

The Sketch of a Personality. 

An Estimate of Some Achievement. 

**A splendid figure for biographical study. ” — The Call. 

Cottage Pie cloth. i2mo. $i.50. 

A Country Spread. A Novel. 

Sixpenny Pieces cloth. i2mo. $1.50. 

The Story of a Sixpenny Doctor 

** Not since famous * No. 5 John Street * has been offered so tell- 
ing and characteristic a work. Power to stir human hearts and 
sway human sympathies. Holds the interest with a grip of iron and 
will make many think.’* — Chicago Record Herald. 

“Unique In style and matter and intense in human interest.’* — 
Louisville Courier Journal. 

“ Notable, pathetic, humorous and tragic. In realistic force and 
convincing truth of characterization it is a striking achievement. 
Slum life has never been better portrayed.** — Brooklyn Eagle. 

Arthur’s Hotel cloth. i2mo. $i.50. 

“ Sketches of low life in London. The book will delight visitors 
to the slums.** — Neva York Sun. 


) 


CHARLES MARRIOTT 


The Intruding Angel cm. i2mo. $1.50. 

The story of a mistaken marriage, and the final solution of the 
problem for the happiness of all parties concerned. 

When a Woman Woos cloth, i2mo, $i,50. 

“Unique. The book is on the whole a study of the relations of 
men and women in the particular institution of marriage. It is 
an attempt to define what a real marriage is, and it shows very 
decidedly what it is not. Full of the material of life. ** 

' — Ne<vo York Times Book Ke<vienv, 


A Spanish Holiday 

Illustrated. Cloth. 8<vo. $2.50 net. Postage 20 cents. 

“The spirit of Spain has been caught to a very great degree by the 
author of this book, and held fast between its covers. ** 

— Book Nenvs. 


NETTA SYRETT 

Olivia L. Carew cM. iZm,. $1.50 

An interesting character study of a passionless, self-absorbed woman 
humanized by the influence of a man’s love and loyal devotion. 

Anne Page, a Love-story of To-day Cloth, 12mo. $1.50 

“Readers must judge for themselves. Women may read it for 
warning as well as entertainment, and they will find both. Men 
may read it for reproach that any of their kind can treat such women 
so. And moralists of either sex will find instructions for their 
homilies, as well as a warning that there may be more than one 
straight and narrow way.” — Ne^ York Tisnes. 

Six Fairy Plays for Children 

Sq. 12mo. $1.00 net. Postage 8 cents. 


ANATOLE FRANCE 

"Anatole France is a writer whose personality is very strongly re- 
flected in his works. ... To reproduce his evanescent grace 
and charm is not to be lightly achieved, but the translators have 
done their work with care, distinction, and a very happy sense of 
the value of words .” — Daily Graphic* 

“We must now all read all of Anatole France. The offer is too 
good to be shirked. He is just Anatole France, the greatest 
living writer of French.” — Daily Chronicle* 

Complete Limited Edition in English 

Under the general editorship of Frederic Chapman. 
8vo., special light-weight paper, wide margins, Caslon 
type, bound in red and gold, gilt top, end papers from 
designs by Beardsley, initials by Ospovat. $ 2.00 per 
volume (except John of postpaid. 

Pierre Noziere 
The White Stone 
Penguin Island 
The Opinions of 
Jerome Coignard 
Jocasta and 
the Famished Cat 
The Aspirations of 
Jean Servien 
The Elm Tree on 
the Mall 

My Friend’s Book 
The Wicker- 
Work Woman 
At the Sign of 
the Queen Pedauque 
Profitable Tales 


Balthasar 

The Well of St. Clare 
The Red Lily 
Mother of Pearl ) 

The Crime of 
Sylvestre Bonnard 
The Garden of Epicurus 
Thais 

The Merrie Tales of 
Jacques Tournebroche 
Joan of Arc. Two volumes. 

^8 net per set. Postage extra. 
The Comedian’s Tragedy 
The Amethyst Ring 
M. Bergeret in Paris 
Life and Letters (4 vols.) 


GILBERT K. CHESTERTON 

“Always entertaining. York Evening Sun. 

“Always original. Tribune. 

Heretics 12mo. $1.50 net. Postage 12 cents 

“His thinking is as sane as his language is brilliant.** 

— Chicago Record-Herald. 

Orthodoxy. Uniform with “Heretics.’^ 

12mo. $1.50 net. Postage 12 cents 

“A work of genius.** — Chicago Evening Post. 

All Things Considered 

Cloth. 12mo. $1.50 net. Postage 12 cents 

“Full of the author’s abundant vitality, wit and unflinching opti- 
mism.** — Book Nevus. 


George Bernard Shaw. A Biography 

Cloth. 12mo. $1.50 net. Postage 12 cents 

‘ ‘It is a facinating portrait study and I am proud to have been the 
painter’s model.** — George Bernard Shaw in The Nation (London), 

The Napoleon of Notting Hill. A Romance. With 
Illustrations by Graham Robertson 

Cloth. 12mo. $1.50 

‘ ‘ A brilliant piece of satire, gemmed with ingenious paradox. 
Every page is pregnant with vitality.** — Boston Herald. 

The Ball and the Cross Cloth. 12mo. $1.50 

“The most strikingly original novel of the present season. It is 
studded with intellectual brilliants. Its satire is keener than that of 
Bernard Shaw. Behind all this foolery there shines the light of 
Truth. A brilliant piece of satire — a gem that sparkles from any 
point of view the reader may choose to regard it. ’ ’ 

— San Francisco Bulletin. 


BERNARD SHAW 
AS ARTIST-PHILOSOPHER 
BY RENEE M. DEACON 

Cloth. 16mo. $1.00 net. Postage 10 cents 

*** A brief account of the Shavian philosophy, in which 
the main trend of Bernard Shaw’s thought is clearly indicated, 
and his attitude toward life is revealed. 

*** “Perhaps the best examination of Bernard Shaw 
that has been published in English .” — Dundee Advertiser. 

“Full of quick and suggestive ideas. Many will gain a 
new and perhaps a truer view of Shaw, his work and his in- 
tentions, through this thoughtful work.” 

— Chicago Record-Herald. 


SOCIALISM AND SUPERIOR BRAINS 

BY BERNARD SHAW 

Cloth. 16mo. 75 cents net. Postage 10 cents 

Portrait frontispiece by the author. A new book by 
Bernard Shaw, dealing with the following topics : 

The Able Author. 

The Able Inventor. 

Ability at Supply-and-Demand Prices. 

The Ability that Gives Value for Money. 

Waste of Ability and Inflation of Its Prices by 
the Rich. 

Artificial Rent of Ability. 

Artificial Ability. 

How Little Really Goes to Ability, etc., etc. 

“Written with that matchless virility for which Mr. Shaw 
is so famous. Socialism has never had, and probably never 
will have, a better and abler exponent and defender. ’ ’ 

— Dundee Advertiser. 


THE HICKORY LIMB 

BY 

PARKER H. FILLMORE 

Illustrated, Cloth, 16mo, 50 cents net. Postage 6 cents, 

‘ ‘ * The Hickory Limb * is a remarkable story, which I 
have enjoyed, appreciated, and admired. It displays a 
knowledge of human nature, tenderness and humor.” 

— Charles Battell Loomis, 

‘ ‘A true and amusing picture of child life. ' * 

— Louisville Courier-Journal, 

* * The little heroine and all the children are capital. * ’ 

— New York Sun, 

“a charming companion to popular ‘Alice in Wonder- 
land.^ ” — Chicago Record-Herald, 

“ One of the most relishable pieces of humor evolved 
in some time.” — Albany Argus, 

“We do not recall having seen any more striking 
evidence of the arrival of an age of social experimentation 
than little Margery’s rebellion.” — Chicago Evening Post, 

‘ ‘A dainty idyl, full of charm. Should prove a classic. ’ ’ 

— Cincinnati Enquirer, 

“Powerful in its subtle analysis of childhood philosophy.” 

— Rochester Union and Advertiser, 

“A most delightful story. . . . Let Mr. Fillmore go 
on writing other stories like The Hickory Limb.* ** 

— Toronto News, 

“An hour of amusement, a series of laughs from the 
heart out, and a pleasant vista backward to the days of child- 
hood will come to the reader of ‘The Hickory Limb.* ** 

— Cincinnati Tribune, 


MY ENEMY— THE MOTOR 


BY 

JULIAN STREET 


Illustrated. Cloth. 16mo. SO cents net. Postage 6 cents. 


“Will supply all normal readers, motor enthusiasts or 
otherwise, with cause for chuckling during a good half-hour. ’ * 

— Chicago Record-Herald. 

‘ ‘ Mr. Street’ s style is lively and vivacious. ’ * 

— Boston Transcript. 

“In the manner of Jerome K. Jerome and may be 
heartily commended.” — New York Globe. 

“The humor of Julian Street first became known by 
the publication of the clever little story ‘ My Enemy — the 
Motor.’ ” — The Boston Herald. 

“More acceptable than the ordinary run of novels 
because it is more amusing, less pretentious and not so long. 
About as long as the ordinary novel might be if only novelists 
would omit superfluities. Just the right length.” 

— N. Y. Evening Sun. 


THE NEED OF CHANGE 


BY 

JULIAN STREET 

Illustrated. Cloth. 16mo. SO cents net. Postage 6 cents. 

“A sketch too good to miss. Deliciously humorous.*’ 

— Baltimore Sun. 

“Delightful. Jovial and joyous as a fat man’s hearty 
laugh. ’ ’ — Chicago Record-Herald. 

“A brilliant story, sympathetically illustrated.” 

— New York American. 

“Fortify yourself when you start the story. If you 
don’t, you may disturb the passengers by laughing right out 
loud.” — San Francisco Bulletin. 

“ Many laughs between the covers. The story is told 
with spirit and a constant sense of humor.” 

— New York Saturday Review of Books. 

“Now and again you have the extreme luck to run 
across a book that is really FUNNY. Not the machine- 
made, madly-advertised type. ‘The Need of Change’ is 
the kind that usually you pick up by accident, start to run 
through casually, find yourself .startled into a chuckle by some 
unexpected humorous line, and end by reading every word 
with zest and hustling around to loan it to your friends. . . 
Keeps the reader in one continuous howl; the fun never 
becomes forced. A gem ! ’ ’ — Philadelphia Item. 


THE NEW POCKET LIBRARY 

Uniform Editions. Boxed 

Printed from a clear type upon a specially thin and opaque papet 
manufactured for the series 


Anthony Trollope. i6 volumes in dark olive green cloth 
or leather, boxed. 

Dr. Thome Barchester Towers The Warden 

Framley Parsonage The Bertrams The Three Clerks 

Castle Richmond Orley Farm (2 vols.) Rachel Ray 

The Macdermots of Ballycloran Can you Forgive Her? (2 vols.) 
The Small House at Allington (2 vols.) 

The Kellys and the O’Kellys 

Flexible leather ^ %12.00 net Cloth, $8.00 net Express cents 


George Borrow. 5 volumes in dark olive green. 

Lavengro The Romany Rye The Bible in Spain 

The Zincali Wild Wales 

Flexible leather, $j.jo net Cloth, $2.^0 net Express 2J cents 


Beaconsfield. A reissue of the Novels of the Earl of 
Beaconsfield. Each with an Introduction by the Earl 
of Iddesleigh. 

Sybil Tancred Venetia Contarini Fleming 

Coningsby Henrietta Temple Vivian Grey 
( The Young Duke C Alroy 

^ The Rise of Iskander J Popanilla 

( The Infernal Marriage | Count Alarcos 

I^Ixion in Heaven 

9 volumes in flexible leather, $6.^0 net g volumes in cloth, net 
Express jo cents 


George Eliot 

Adam Bede The Mill on the Floss Silas Mamer 

Scenes of Clerical Life 

4 volumes in flexible leather, $j 00 net 4 volumes in cloth, $2.00 net 
Express 2^ cents 
















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